


The Wolf and The Human

by fandom_life_forever



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Derek, BAMF Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Pack Feels, Past Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Season 6B Adaptation, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Malia Tate Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-02-08 20:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12872583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_life_forever/pseuds/fandom_life_forever
Summary: Adaptation of Season 6B:For once in his life, Stiles Stilinski thinks everything is going well. He is working with the F.B.I., he's dating the girl of his dreams, and his friends are finally moving on and getting away from the supernatural bullshit of Beacon Hills. Everyone is happy.Until that video plays and his face appears on screen. His face. Derek Hale. Accused of mass murder. All of Stiles' feelings are reinvigorated and he sets off on a journey to find the one and only sourwolf, a trip that may provide more questions than answers.Meanwhile, Beacon Hills reputation persists, as a new threat enters the town. Scott and the pack must work together to stop this new creature, facing their deepest fears at the same time.A/N: I do not own any of the Teen Wolf characters.





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! My name is Abigail and this is my very first piece of fanfiction, so I hope it's okay. I've never shown anyone my work before, so I do have my fingers crossed. This fanfiction is essentially an adaptation of season 6B, but focusing on Stiles and his story. Also, this is a Sterek fanfiction so I will be concentrating on them and their relationship, and the ending will be different from the TV show, but not by much.

Stiles can't remember ever being this nervous, or excited before. Maybe that's not true. But this time it has nothing to do with the supernatural. Stiles immediately shakes the thought away. He can't think about that stuff anymore. It is time to move on. One careful breath later, he is entering the F.B.I. headquarters. The freakin' F.B.I.! 

As Stiles climbs the spiralled staircase, he remembers what he had said to Scott in his voicemail, and he only hopes that his best friend is taking his advice. Beacon Hills may be there home, but they had done enough. He thinks about Scott getting into Roscoe and driving far away and it makes him happy. It makes him happy to think about Lydia, his girlfriend (a fact that still amazes Stiles) going to MIT, finally meeting people that can match her intellect. It makes him happy to think about Malia, visiting France, just travelling and giving herself some much needed space. 

But nothing makes Stiles happier than seeing that symbol embossed on the floor, reminding Stiles of how far he has come. He's been through a lot, everyone has, but seeing that, helps him in ways he didn't think it would. He smiles and adjusts his tie. He has to send his dad a photo of it, his dad had been pestering him ever since he left, but Stiles knows it comes from a place of love. He does worry about his dad, not just because without Stiles he was likely to die from an overdose of curly fries, but because he was alone in their house. No Stiles. Alone. But the pack promised to take care of him, making sure he is eating his vegetables, even if they have to blend them and force him to drink them. Sometimes Stiles likes to tease his dad about being the more mature one, but then his dad reminds him of that one time he tried to make pancakes and somehow managed to singe off his eyebrows, parts of his hair, blow the fuse of the oven, create a black pancake mosaic on the ceiling and smash, not one, but two windows. Not a great moment. And Stiles has had a lot of them.

Stiles collects an information pack as he walks into the classroom, nodding at his peers, one or two giving him an odd glance, whether that's because his shit-eating grin is freaking them out, or it's just his general appearance, Stiles doesn't know. He doesn't care. He won't let anything spoil this moment. 

A man wearing a pristine suit enters the room, identifies himself as Agent Matthew and reminds Stiles for a moment of Agent McCall, aka. Agent Dickhead. Even though it was Agent Douche that helped Stiles get this internship with the F.B.I., it didn't earn him many points in Stiles' mind. Stiles forces himself to focus. How could he think about anything else right now? This is so unbelievable, he is tempted to start counting his fingers. 

"You'll join actual federal agents as we investigate everything from white collar crime to terrorism to -" 

Maybe Stiles should have taken more Adderall this morning, but he speaks up, "International domestic?"

"Uh, yes," says Agent Matthew, slightly flummoxed by Stiles' interruption. 

Stiles finishes bringing the rest of his stuff out his bag, placing his notebooks and pens about the edge of the desk. 

Stiles is just too excited, so he interrupts again when Agent Matthew talks about different criminals, asking about serial killers, to which the agent's bewilderment turns into mild annoyance. Ah, that really is part of Stiles' charm, he can annoy anyone. Maybe he shouldn't be proud of that fact, but a sly part of him is, even though he's been threatened with having his throat ripped out before. Stiles doesn't linger on that thought. Those are bad thoughts. 

Stiles takes a drink from his water bottle, fiddling with the lid, his hands needing something to do, letting the water swirl around his mouth for a moment.

"One recent manhunt had our crisis response team chasing down a bizarrely feral unsub in the wilderness of North Carolina -" Stiles looks up at the video screen, and not a second later, he is spitting water all over the people in front of him. 

Oh my God. It's him. It's really him. 

Derek Hale. 

Stiles keeps a hand over his mouth, otherwise he might laugh or yell out. This is not happening. 

"Is there a problem, ummm..." Stiles can see Agent Matthew pondering over the register, thoughts and mouth stumbling over his real name. Stiles wants to say, _don't worry, dude, you're not the first, and you won't be the last_. Stiles remembers when he used to call himself Mischief because he couldn't pronounce it properly, and he really did live up to that nickname. Stiles has a lightning shaped scar on his hip to prove it. Long story. 

"No, sorry, uh, just got a little excited, no problem. Just a little question though. That guy up there -" Stiles points at Derek's exposed back, the triskele clearly shown, "- what's he wanted for?" Stiles is trying to act nonchalant, normal, but he knows that is just not part of his repertoire. Normal is overrated anyway, or so said his father when Stiles was diagnosed with ADHD. 

"Murder." Stiles can tell that Agent Matthew wanted Stiles to lose the ability to speak. As if that would ever happen. His exasperation is evident, but Stiles was never one to take hints. Derek could attest to that.

Agent Matthew moves to turn back to the screen, but in typical Stiles fashion, he doesn't know when to give up, "Uh, sorry, just wondering, what kind of murder?" Stiles doesn't think his voice sounds even. He doesn't care, he just needs to know. 

"Mass murder." With a pointed nod, Agent Matthew continues speaking and playing the video. 

Stiles tries his best to pay attention, because he knows this is his chance, but all he can think through the presentation is _Jesus Derek, what have you gotten yourself into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was my first chapter. I know it wasn't very long but I hope you enjoyed it. I just wanted to establish the story. I will try and update often, but it just depends on my mood. Thank you!


	2. Welcome To The F.B.I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter. I want to progress this part of the plot quite quickly, because I am as desperate to get the Sterek as anyone. I hope I'm portraying these characters in a realistic way. Thank you!

Stiles is freaking out. His whole body is shaking, legs jiggling and teeth chattering. Stiles is pretty sure the girl next to him absolutely loathes him, she keeps shooting him small glances, with her eyebrows crossed and mouth set in a hard line. 

In all honesty, Stiles doesn't think her opinion matters, considering he just found out that that goddamn Sourwolf has gone and gotten himself accused of mass murder, and now it is up to Stiles to save his furry ass. Stiles is pissed to another level. He keeps repeating in his mind _I'm going to kill you Derek Hale. Your head will be mounted on my wall by the end of this_. That isn't the only problem though. Just the thought of Derek Hale stirs up memories that Stiles hates thinking about. Stiles does send him a message from time to time. Fine, it may be more often than time to time, but it's just because Stiles wants to make sure that damned werewolf isn't dead in a ditch somewhere. All he ever receives though is one-word blunt replies. Typical Derek Hale behaviour. But other than that, Stiles does his best never to think about him. Well, he tries to.

Agent Matthew finishes his presentation and dismisses them for the rest of the day. The first day is supposed to be introductory, introduction in the sense of meeting new people, establishing bonds and understanding their role and environment. Stiles had been ready to do that, but now his thoughts are consumed by one person. One stupid, frigid, mean, furious, terrifying werewolf with a leather fetish and a serious case of permanent scowl. 

Stiles quickly gathers up his things, ready to run to his new dorm room and yell down his phone, but as he's turning the corner, a hand reaches out with massive strength and drags him through the corridors. He's thrown into an empty display room. 

Stiles whirls around, the words 'What the hell do you think you're doing?' ready on his lips and waiting to be thrown in the face of his kidnapper, until he faces that person. It's the girl he was sitting next to before. 

Stiles chooses sarcasm, it's his only defence, or so he once told Scott. "If you really wanted to get me all alone, you just had to ask." Stiles uses his signature smirk, which has the desired effect, she's angry. 

"Stop talking. Who are you, and why do you smell like a wolf?" The accusation in her tone makes Stiles blink. "Despite the fact that you are not a wolf. That much is obvious," she states, her eyes sliding up and down his body, making Stiles feel far too exposed. Stiles has grown quite a bit in the past year or so in terms of muscle mass, but her gaze makes him feel like the tiny, skinny freshman he once was.

"So, you're a werewolf yourself then?" Stiles prompts, she doesn't reply, but he can tell she is. How else would she know about his smell? Stiles may have trouble remembering to wash, but he's not that bad. "But unless you're planning on beating me senseless, I don't have to answer you." Stiles doesn't want to reveal anything, he wants to protect the pack, she could be trouble. 

She sighs heavily. "Okay, fine, I'll try a different approach. I'm Helena. I'm a werewolf. My pack have lived in this part of Virginia for over a hundred and fifty years, we protect this place. And you smell like another werewolf pack. I need to make sure you're not a threat. I'm only thinking of my pack," Helena explains, and Stiles has to nod along. He can understand wanting to protect your pack, that's all Stiles has ever wanted to do, and while he is not part of a conventional werewolf pack, he cares about each of them deeply. 

"Alright then, I'm Stiles," Helena looks dubious, "Trust me, it's better than my real name, I can barely get my tongue around it. And I am part of a pack, but I've had lots of trouble the past couple of years, so I'm not ready for full disclosure just yet. But you don't have to worry about me. I'm not going to threaten your pack." Stiles holds up his hands in a placating gesture, smiling normally, hoping that he's doing well with this informal pack negotiation.

"I think I'll be deciding if you're a threat or not," Stiles couldn't argue with that, "but you seem harmless enough. Hope you don't mind if I shadow you a bit." Her voice left no room for arguments. 

"Nope, not at all, shadow your heart out. Give us a chance to get to know each other." For the first time, Helena shows the first hint of a smile on her lips. Stiles really looks at her for a moment, she's pretty, very pretty. Her tumbling dark hair reaches her lower back and frames her heart-shaped face. Obsidian eyes bore into Stiles', making him wonder about her werewolf eye colour. She's not as drop dead gorgeous as Lydia (god, just thinking about Lydia makes him homesick, he wants to talk to her, hold her, kiss her, and do about a thousand other things to her), but it seems to be an integral part of werewolf DNA, they have great genes for facial and bodily features. Not fair, not fair at all. 

"So, Stiles, how about we go get some lunch and maybe we can talk more about werewolves and odd nicknames." Stiles chuckles and grabs his backpack off the floor where he dropped it. 

They walk together until they find the cafeteria, serving relatively good food. It reminds Stiles of Beacon Hills Highschool's cafeteria. A pang of sadness infiltrates Stiles' mind, but it's laced with some good memories, so the pain isn't as strong as usual. 

Stiles picks a chicken pesto panini, with extra curly fries, obviously, and devours it within seconds, so much that even the werewolf in front of him looks impressed at his food munching skills. 

Helena is careful but firm with her questioning. Stiles can tell just how much she cares about her pack. Stiles remembers Cora saying how losing a pack member isn't like losing family, it's more like losing a limb, so Helena's questioning seem well founded. But he is still careful with what he tells her. He wants to trust her, but everything he's seen and learned over the past few years means he's hesitant to do anything without proper research. 

Helena tells him stories of her younger brothers' first transformation, leading to naked run-ins with the police and a decimation of a McDonald's burger supply. Stiles laughs, finding this so easy. It's nice to speak someone outside the pack that still understands the situation, and it helps keep Stiles' mind off the Derek situation.

"My mother once told me that we're supposed to be the protectors of our territory, so I take my role seriously, which means training with the F.B.I. and investigating anyone who might pose a threat," Helena states, twirling her spaghetti around the fork. 

"Playing both sides of the field, huh?" Stiles asks, eyebrow raised, maybe in slight admiration of her dedication to her pack. 

"I like to think, I'm covering all bases this way." She smirks, before shovelling another forkful into her mouth, somehow still managing to look like a supermodel. Stiles hates werewolves and their freaky good looks. 

"When you say protector, do you just mean of the supernatural?" Stiles pauses for a second, contemplating, before continuing, "I knew someone who had a similar purpose, but it wasn't about protecting the supernatural only, it was about all of those living in Beacon Hills. Keeping the people and the territory safe. Do you feel that way as well?" 

Helena had been nodding throughout his speech. "Absolutely, we don't have a territory if we don't have and protect humans." 

Stiles grins, happy with her response. They spend the next couple of hours talking about everything they feel comfortable sharing, and Stiles finds he really likes this girl. Maybe the supernatural isn't so bad if it made him a new friend on his first day. 

Stiles walks Helena to her dorm room, which is just a corridor away from his own. Phone numbers swapped, Stiles goes back to his own room. It's quite simple, a bed, bedside drawer, desk, wardrobe and an adjoining bathroom. Stiles had deposited his bags here earlier this morning. Stiles tries to keep in his mind what the room originally looks like, knowing that in a few short moments, it will be a bomb site. 

Stiles takes a breath, his heartbeat steadily increases as he pulls out his phone, because he knows what he has to do, and he is beyond nervous, scared and mad. He clicks on Derek's number and just waits. And waits. And waits. 

No answer.

Stiles nearly growls. He grits out, "Derek Hale, I am going to murder you. I am going to trap you in a mountain ash circle, throw mistletoe in your face and shove so much wolfsbane down your throat that it will be all you and your children will taste. And if that doesn't work, I'm going to kick your ass no matter how many bones I break doing it. You're accused of mass murder and if I don't get an immediate call back saying you're fine and you've got it handled, I am going to find you. I will hunt you down and you will wish that it was actual hunters doing it! Call me back! Now!"

Stiles throws his phone down on the bed, because he knows that if he keeps a hold of it, he'll either crush it or use up all his battery repeatedly phoning Derek. That complete idiot. 

Stiles is nearly finished unpacking when he hears the Star Wars theme music play (so sue him, he's a giant nerd, he loves Star Wars). Stiles practically dives across the room, swiping without checking the number and quickly rambling, "Hello? Hello! Is that you? Are you there? Did you get my message? Are you safe?" 

"Stiles, son, calm down. Take a breath." Stiles instantly recognises his father's voice, and he remembers that he needs oxygen to live. 

"Dad, uh, hi, how's it going?" Why does Stiles always fail at acting normal? Oh yeah, because Stiles is the least normal person in the world. "I thought you were someone else." 

"Obviously," his dad laughs. "Whose got you so worked up?" 

"Nobody. Promise. How are you? Better only be eating veggie burgers or there will be trouble when I get back." Stiles grins as he speaks, happy for the distraction his dad is giving him. 

"Don't worry, I'm being good. The pack, especially Scott and Lydia, have been keeping an eye on my eating habits." Stiles can hear the happiness in the Sheriff's voice, soothing his old fears of his dad's loneliness. 

"Good to know," Stiles says. Stiles proceeds to tell his dad everything about his first day, even though there is nothing much to say, but Stiles has always had the talent to ramble on incessantly about anything. He considers telling his dad about Helena, and decides to tell him, because the pack needs to know about any new werewolves. His dad listens carefully and says he'll tell the pack tomorrow at their meeting. Stiles misses the pack meetings and pack nights, Stiles guesses he just misses old life, despite knowing how ready he is to move on. 

Eventually, Stiles unpacks everything, and once he's been reassured that Beacon Hills and his dad are fine, Stiles feels ready to go to bed. It's been a long day. 

Stiles sends quick texts to the pack, and settles in the new bed, the cold seeping into his bones. He has to readjust his pillow a thousand times before he's satisfied. Even then, real satisfaction eludes him because there is still no sign of the Sourwolf. He could be dead, he could be hurt, he could just be ignoring Stiles, but it takes hours before Stiles even has the capability of closing his eyes. 

Just as the tendrils of sleep latch onto Stiles' brain, loud knocking interrupts his thoughts and he's forced to leave his warm retreat. 

He grumbles as he gets to the door and swings it open, only to reveal Agent Asshole. 

Just as Stiles opens his mouth to lash out at the dumbass in front of him, he's beaten to his words for once, "Stiles, we need to talk. It's about Derek."


	3. The Mission

Agent Fucker walks into Stiles' room without preamble. His stature makes Stiles think he is barely able to make it through his dorm door, or maybe that's the sound of his giant egotistical head he hears squeaking through the door. 

"Why do you want to talk to me about Derek? Has something happened to him? Is he hurt?" Stiles quickly rattles off a thousand questions, to which Agent Shitstain just glares at him, used to Stiles' chattering but still hating it nonetheless. He moves to sit in Stiles' desk chair, so Stiles goes and stands on the other side of the room.

"Stiles, stop talking, for the love of God. I'm here as a courtesy. I came here originally to check up on the new recruits when I was given a new assignment by my supervisor, the capture of Derek Hale, dead or alive." Stiles takes a deep breath, too many thoughts running through his head. 

"What is this? A Hitchcock movie? Dead or alive, seriously? We both know that Derek is innocent. He wouldn't do something like that. You have to stop them!" Stiles demands, to which Agent Buttmunch looks at him incredulously, as if the entire concept of helping Derek is foreign. 

"It's not as simple as that, Stilinski. This mission is one of severe importance, given directly by my supervisor. People are worried, they need reassurance and Derek's capture is what will provide that, whether you and I both know him to be innocent." He sounds so reasonable whilst he's speaking, but it is the most unreasonable thing in the world to Stiles. He can't arrest Derek for something he didn't do. And while Stiles still hasn't received a reply from that asshat werewolf, he knows Derek, he just does, and he knows what he's capable of. 

"Then let me come with you! I could help. I know Derek, I could talk to him and find out how this all happened. Let me do this. Please." Stiles thinks he might be begging, but that's ridiculous, he would never beg, not for Derek. Nope. Never.

"Stiles, you just had your first day of your internship, you're not qualified in any sense of the word to go out into the field and face a potentially dangerous criminal." Before Stiles could retort, Agent Fucktard continues, "I know you think he's not dangerous, but we are the only ones that know about Derek and the supernatural, to everyone else he is an unidentified mass murdering criminal. So, I'm asking you not to meddle. You can't help. Stop."

Stiles thinks about Derek, he thinks about the times he's seen Derek almost die, and the absolute terror Stiles felt at witnessing that. Stiles can remember the last time, Braeden bent over Derek's bleeding body, and Derek telling them all that he would be fine, _'I'll be right behind you. Go.'_ Stiles can hear it, see it so clearly that it pains him. It was one of the worst moments of his life, watching Derek nearly die, and watching Derek leave. 

"You can't ask that of me." Stiles shakes his head vehemently. 

"I'm not asking." With that, Agent Douche-Canoe leaves the room. Stiles is tempted to throw something at the door behind him, but refrains because he's quite attached to everything in his room and doesn't want to be held responsible for any dents made on the very first day. 

Stiles looks at the clock and realises it nearly 3 o'clock in the morning. He groans loudly, contemplating chucking himself out a window. Why did that cockbrain have to talk to him? There is not a chance in hell he'll be able to get to sleep now. 

Stiles decides to pull out his laptop and check out his schedule for the next few weeks, noting he has firearms, survival, tactical vehicle and self-defence training over the next week or so. He also has classes dedicated to offender profiling, forensic psychology and criminal justice. Stiles also notes the number of assignments he needs to do, and the amount of Adderall he's going to need to survive all of this, whilst simultaneously finding and punching Derek in the face. He is going to find a way to get on that mission, no matter what it takes. God, there is just a lot of work to do, and Stiles wants to do it all, but he needs to find Derek. That's what needs to take precedence. 

Stiles decides to call Scott, and despite the time, Scott picks up. 

"Hey buddy, what's up? How's Virginia?" Stiles wonders if Scott's tone sounds ever so slightly false. _You'd better not be keeping something from me Scotty, or there will be trouble_ , Stiles thinks.

"It's pretty good. I just couldn’t get to sleep so I thought I'd call. You okay, dude? You sound kinda wired?" Stiles probes, knowing that if Scott wanted to tell him he would have done immediately. Maybe it's not that serious? Bullshit. 

"Yeah, everything's fine. Promise. So, come on, just tell me everything. Your dad said you told him something, might as well tell me now." So, Stiles tells. He tells Scott about Helena, about his first day, his plans for the next few weeks, just going on and on, with casual interjections from Scott. They laugh together, and Stiles just wishes Scott was with him right now. Stiles had been downplaying how much he would miss Beacon Hills, but he knew he would miss his brother as much as anything when he left. 

Finally, Stiles opens his mouth to talk to Scott about Derek, and when he does, Scott waits patiently until he's finished with his rant. "So now I don't know what to do. How do I convince your dad? How do I help Derek? He hasn't even answered my stupid call. Should I call him again? How many times is too much? Like a hundred?"

"Stiles, it's okay. We'll figure this out. I'll talk to my dad -" 

"Scott, I don't think you talking to your dad -" 

"No, just listen, if I can do anything to help you and Derek, then I will. I'll try and contact Derek myself. We can work this out. Honestly," Scott reassures Stiles. Stiles nods and breathes in time, achieving a semblance of calm once again. 

They spend another hour talking things through until Scott has to go, probably dealing with some supernatural shit that he doesn't want Stiles to know about. Stiles isn't sure if he should press Scott just yet, he has a thousand other things to do and if Scott tells him, he will be on the first flight back. He would have to abandon Derek. 

"Dude, you're gonna be fine. I'll talk to you later. Keep me updated." Then Scott's gone, and Stiles is collapsing onto his bed, glancing regretfully at the clock, which is just torturing him with the time.

Stiles clicks, and Derek's face appears on screen, a rare photo when his eyes aren't shining, and his face isn't one of pure annoyance or hatred. Maybe Stiles smiles a little at the photo. He clicks again and once again; all Stiles receives is Derek's voicemail. 

"Derek," Stiles breathes, "Just call me back, okay? The fact that I didn't even get a stupid text back kind of worries me, because I really don't want to have to clean your werewolf ass off the road or deal with Cora, she is an even more terrifying version of you. Just, just call me back...you stupid sourwolf." 

***

The alarm screaming is what jerks Stiles awake. It is 7 o'clock in the morning and Stiles has never felt more tired in his life. He needs coffee and he needs it now. 

Stiles groans as he forces himself into an upright position. He drags on his clothes, glancing over his schedule again, knowing he has an hour before his first class begins, which his morning is dedicated to, whilst his afternoon is concerned with firearms training. Stiles hasn't had the best record with guns, but hopefully, with proper instruction, he won't shoot his toe off or one of the other recruits. Stiles checks his phone, finding texts from the pack, but not from the one person he truly wants to hear from. Lydia had sent him a cute message and Stiles spends ten minutes deciding what to text back, how to seem cool, but then he reminds himself that Lydia fell in love with the goofball in him, so he replies as he normally would, as he should. 

Stiles spots Helena in the cafeteria and slumps down next to her, a massive cup of coffee in his hand, which unfortunately isn't having the desired effect. Teenagers really do need more than 7 hours sleep a night. Still, you'd think that all those nights of research for the pack would have prepared him a little, maybe it was more than tiredness contributing to his state. 

"Morning not treating you so hot, rookie?" Helena grins, her werewolf abilities keeping her looking perfect all day and all night. How many times can he say that he hates werewolves? 

"Shut up, I couldn't sleep last night. Had a lot on my mind," Stiles grumbles, head falling on the table with a slight thump. Helena awkwardly pats his back, but it does nothing to quell Stiles' feelings of exhaustion. 

"What was rattling around that big ol' brain of yours Stilinski? The failure of the first 3 Star Wars prequels? Porn not up to your usual standard? Boyfriend not text you back?" Ironically, Helena's smile can only be described as wolfish. 

"Screw you, I have a girlfriend."

"Gotta love the fact that that's the part you focus on, as if you're sensitive on that issue," Helena teases him, and while Stiles knows she's only taunting him, it still riles him. He glares at her furiously, but all she does is spoon more cereal in her mouth. 

"Alright, fine, Jesus, you're so touchy. Come on, let's go learn about killers." Despite himself, Stiles laughs, there is something about this girl. She's just damn awesome, and Stiles has known her for less than a day. 

They settle in their seats in second classroom in the east wing. Another Agent enters the room and begins his presentation on a series of famous serial killers in America and the processes used to find and arrest them. Stiles takes so many notes his hand is about ready to give up on him, but that is Stiles' usual technique anyway. He catches Helena rolling her eyes, but all he does is stick his tongue out at her. Stiles loves this, he's always loved this, research, investigating, he once dressed up as the Sheriff and tried to take over the station when he was 10. Needless to say, it didn't work out.

The class is over before Stiles knows it, but in the very last second, the door opens and in walks Agent Dipshit. _Ah fuck_. 

"Good morning, interns. I hope you are all doing well and so far, are enjoying this experience. I remember being one of you, and I know how tough these next few months are going to be, but I am confident in every one of your abilities." He looks directly at Stiles. "Unfortunately, I'm unable to stay to oversee your training as I have something incredibly important to deal with." Another direct look at Stiles. "But I wish you all good luck and look forward to seeing your progress at the end of your internship." He nods and exits quickly. The class had ended so Stiles abandons his things and runs after him. 

"McCall, we need to talk," Stiles demands. He can hear the Agent sigh and gesture towards an empty conference room next to them. 

"Mr. Stilinski, what would you like to discuss?" Agent Cocksucker asks, as if he doesn't already know the answer. 

"Derek, obviously. You know that."

"And you know the answer."

"Screw you. You don't care about Derek, your men could kill him and you would stand by and watch, but I do care about Derek, and Scott does. The entire pack, so you need to help him, and you can do that by letting me in on the mission." There is a protest waiting on the idiot's lips, but Stiles interrupts, "I know about werewolves more than you and your men. It would be in your best interest. What if it's werewolves that are after Derek? You would get torn to pieces. You are putting yourself and your men in danger, risking their lives because you don't have enough information about the supernatural. You would destroy Scott if something happened to you. I'm really hoping you're better than that, despite being a massive dickhead, I know you're trying to make amends with Scott." 

For the first time, it seems the Agent is really listening to what Stiles is saying, understanding his point of view. Thank God. 

"Alright, Stiles. I'll think about your position, and perhaps I will discuss the possibility of your inclusion on the mission with my supervisors. I don't know how in the hell I'm going to convince them, but I will do all I can," Agent Toolbag says, then leaves. 

Stiles breathes out carefully, a small sense of relief filling him. Maybe everything will be okay. Maybe they'll find Derek and he'll be in perfect health. The pessimist inside Stiles speaks up, _you're deluding yourself_. The voice reminds for a moment of _him_ , and Stiles' mood drops. The mere thought of that thing, destroys Stiles from the inside out. He still has nightmares, but now it's not just him, there are so many bad things Stiles has done and now they all haunt his dreams. Stiles can't even bear to think their names, because it hurts. It hurts. It always hurts.

Stiles shakes his head, trying to dispel all those kinds of thoughts. He pulls out his phone and clicks on Derek's number, the action becoming all too familiar. "Derek, I'm making progress here, so wherever you are, where you're still unable to answer my voicemails," Stiles says with bitterness laced in his voice, but he moves on quickly, "I'm coming to find you and you'd better be in perfect health when I do. You know I don't have the muscles to drag your big form across the state of North Carolina, if that's even where you are right now. Call me back. If you can." 

Stiles presses end call and finds Helena waiting right outside the room. It frightens Stiles a little so he gasps and places a hand over his heart. "Are you trying to kill me? You know I'm sure you'll be able to self-defence. Or were you just trying to jump the gun?" Stiles keeps his hand on his heart, drawing out the sympathy for as long as he can. 

Helena isn't the most sympathetic. "Why were you talking to Agent McCall? Who is Derek?" 

This annoys Stiles. "I know I agreed to let you shadow me, but sometimes things should stay private."

"I'm doing this for my pack, Stiles! I don't know who this Derek is, he could threaten us. I won't let that happen."

"And I swore you the same thing. I won't let anything happen to your pack. You can trust me," Stiles promises her.

"I'm learning that, but trust doesn't happen overnight," Helena tells him. Stiles knows she's right, but he doesn't like having to discuss Derek with anyone. 

"Okay, Derek is my friend," Stiles slightly stumbles over the word 'friend'. He and Derek never really defined their relationship, but considering the lengths Stiles is going to find Derek and prove his innocence, he would have to say they have something akin to friendship. "He needs my help, and coincidently or unfortunately, Agent McCall's mission just so happens to include him, not putting him in the best of positions. And he's not answering my phone calls," Stiles sighs heavily. 

Helena nods carefully and takes him by the arm, pulling him down the corridor. "Come on, we have another class." She pauses. "I believe you, by the way." 

Stiles smiles as they walk. The rest of the day is spent studying, learning about different methods of offender profiling, and Stiles is given his first assignment. He needs to analyse multiple extracts and identify the potential profile of the criminal involved in each. They are each given a different scenario so there will no possibility of cheating. Their day ends at 6, so Helena and him both head to the cafeteria. Both shovel food down their throats, but of course Helena still manages to look elegant while doing so. 

Stiles and Helena walk back to his room and they decide to do some studying together. In the middle of writing a sentence, he hears a cough coming from the floor where Helena is sitting. "Stiles, there is something different about you. It's making me trust you so easily, too easily. I don't make friends, no one outside the pack, but I like you and I want to be your friend. So, if you trust Derek and you can vouch for his behaviour, then I'll help you find him." 

Stiles feels the corners of his lips pull upwards. He turns around and sits on the floor next to her, taking her hand. "Thanks, Lena." She smiles, her olive-coloured skin crinkling around her mouth. "I trust you too, and believe me, that doesn't come easily for me either. Not after everything." 

There is something crazy happening here, but it doesn't feel bad. Stiles is just happy to have made a friend like this. He'll still be careful, but for whatever reason, he'll trust and enjoy this friendship.

The clock keeps ticking until it reaches midnight and Helena decides to go to her room. Stiles watches her leave. Stiles calls Lydia and the sound of her voice soothes everything that ails him. Stiles lies down on the floor, fiddling with a loose thread while Lydia tells him about packing up her room. Lydia could talk about anything and it would captivate Stiles. He loves this girl, he truly does. Eventually, they both grow tired and they say goodbye. 

Stiles quickly jerks off, thinking about Lydia and all the things he is finally able to do. Fantasies becoming realities. Just as Stiles reaches his climax, a face enters his mind and before he can stop himself, he's spilling all over his hand with a groan. 

Stiles cleans himself up and tries not think about what he just did. That was wrong, so wrong, so very very wrong. He loves Lydia, there is absolutely no doubt about it, but Stiles has always had a fluid sense of sexuality. He has been attracted to boys before, maybe to a particular someone, but he thought those feelings were gone. He was sure of it. Lydia's love saved him from the Ghost Riders, opened a rift in time and space. He adores her, with every fibre of his being. Stiles recognises how wrong what he just did was, so he decides never to dwell on those thoughts again. 

His only concern is to find Derek and clear his name. He is going to save Derek. That is all that will ever come of their relationship. 

That's all, he promises himself, Lydia, the pack, the universe. 

That's all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. While I do want to get to the action, I feel like these parts are necessary, just establishing the setting and relationships. I am trying to build the Sterek in, hopefully, a realistic way, without just jumping in for it. Also, this was my first attempt at writing smut, and while I do think it's tame comparing to what I've read (Yes, I read Sterek smut too, a lot of it), there will be more and probably more explicit in the future. So if you're uncomfortable, you can skip it, or I might provide a more subtle version of the scenes in the future chapters as well. Thanks for reading!


	4. Meet The Pack

The next few days were normal, so normal, that Stiles thought he could almost forget about the supernatural, even though his first friend here was a werewolf. Stiles was able to make more friends, chatting to people in his classes and training. He ate lunch with different people, kept working on his assignments and engaging with the agents. Helena and Stiles continued to grow closer. Life should always be like this. 

Firearms training had been interesting. Stiles had never been one for grace or marksmanship, but he found himself rather excelling. There was something eerily calming about shooting at a target. He was by no means the best, but he could feel himself steadily improving, and considering that he hadn't shot his toe off or one of his peers, he was impressed with himself. 

Helena had stepped up and shot each target right through the heart in quick succession, before stepping back and grinning at Stiles. "Don't worry young blood, you'll get the hang of it."

Stiles glared at her, reloading his weapon, the standard Glock 23, "Next person to shoot the target in the middle of the head gets to ask anything of the loser, whether it be free food or sexual favours," Stiles winked at her, "whilst the loser is doomed not only to drink the Stilinski spitfire," It was something Stiles had perfected over the past few years, an alcoholic drink with more than a few special and disgusting ingredients, bound to make a person throw up. Stiles had even adapted it so that it affected werewolves, he was dedicated like that. Scott had learned that the hard way. "but also, to buy as many burgers and curly fires as wanted by the winner." 

"You are so going to regret this, Stilinski," Helena smirked at him. Maybe Stiles shouldn't have challenged a werewolf, considering their incredible speed, agility and precision, but Stiles was feeling cocky, so he just grinned while she set herself up. 

Stiles knew exactly what he was doing when he sauntered up behind her and pressed two fingers against her skin, just at the base of her neck. She yelped causing her aim to be off and her bullet to land nowhere near the head. 

"What the fuck, Stilinski?" Helena demanded. She reached up and rubbed her neck. "How in the hell did you do that?" Stiles had spent a long time studying werewolves and regular wolves and he knew that area was a sensitive spot for both. He loved torturing Scott with it. Stiles was evil, but it was fun. 

"Don't mess with the master," and before she could retaliate, he took position and fired, his bullet landing on the target, not dead centre but damn close. 

Helena was practically breathing fire, her wolf begging to be released and attack Stiles (wouldn't be the first time for him), but she reined it in and just settled for verbal abuse. Eventually, she calmed down, and gritted out, "Alright asshole, you won, so what do you want? What does your heart desire? And bear in mind that I know you have a badass banshee girlfriend that could snap me in half." 

Stiles laughed, rejoicing in the badassery of his girlfriend. "My condition is," small breath, "I want to meet your pack. I want to introduce myself and show them I can be trusted." 

A smile graced her lips as she picked up her gun again. "Okay, I'll talk to them, see if we can set up a meeting. Don't worry, I've only been telling them the good things." She sends more bullets flying off into the distance. 

"And by that, you mean all the bad things, right?" Stiles asks. 

Helena doesn't reply. 

***

But despite all of that, he never truly forgets. Stiles is often up until 4 o'clock in the morning, chasing any lead he can on Derek, spending hours upon hours researching any mention of a 'feral unsub' in the North Carolina area, and when there are no results, Stiles looks further afield. He looks everywhere he can, and is determined to keep going. Agent Awful has disappeared, but he had left a note in Stiles' room, saying he would be in contact once the details had been secured. Stiles could only hope he was able to convince his supervisors of Stiles' importance. 

The days continue, and in a way, mesh together, but that doesn't make them boring, it just means they fit well together. Stiles loves every moment of his training, he just wishes he could devote 110% of his resources to the F.B.I. Days he spends with the F.B.I., nights he spends looking for Derek. It means splitting himself in half and sometimes he has trouble not showing it. Damn you, Derek Hale! You are in so much trouble! 

It becomes clear how exhausted Stiles is in self-defence training as he lacks his usual motivation. They partner up and practise the movements with each other. Helena twists his wrists so hard, Stiles thinks she might actually shatter them. This action invigorates Stiles' mood, but not in a good way. His lack of defensiveness frustrates Stiles. Why can't he protect himself? He fights back as hard as he can, so much that his position is definitely one of attack, not defence, but still he gets nowhere, not against a werewolf anyway. It pleases Helena though, Stiles guesses she's still pissed at him tricking her during firearms. 

"This is what you get, Mischief," she says, just as she knocks him on his ass, for the millionth time. _Well, that will bruise,_ Stiles thinks. The trainer is impressed with her technique and allows her to practise more advanced moves with careful observation. Stiles has the worst luck.

Helena picks Stiles up again, readying her stance. He reaches out his right hand, stretching his left leg, and in the blink of an eye, he is flat on his back, all the air knocked out of him. 

"Ow," Stiles groans. 

"Come on, you big baby, get up. I have a thousand other moves I want to try out." Stiles, being the dick that he is, kicks out and knocks her on her ass. The look on her face is priceless. She tries to glare at him, but soon they both end up chuckling away on the safety mats, probably looking insane and annoying the hell out of the instructor. 

"Stilinski, Danbury, get your asses of the floor and keep practising," the instructor orders. 

Stiles has to bite his lip to keep from laughing, but gets up and keeps practising. After some slight grovelling, Helena agrees to help him with his technique, instead of just beating him into the ground. 

They spend hours fighting, the instructor barking commands at them at random intervals. When they are eventually dismissed, Stiles decides to stay behind. He pulls out some of the weights and exercise machines, creating a routine for himself. He works harder and harder until he nearly collapses from exhaustion. He lies on the mats for a while, staring at the ceiling. 

For some reason, Stiles thinks about the time Peter offered him the bite, why he said no. Stiles couldn't deny that he was vaguely intrigued by the concept, but he saw what the wolf did to Peter, did to Scott at first, and Stiles didn't want to be like that. As the years went by, and Scott understood his powers and became the perfect example of what a werewolf could be, Stiles' intrigue increased, but he would never say anything about it. He liked being the only human in the pack, but he couldn't say he had never thought about it. 

That summer that Erica and Boyd went missing, Stiles had spent most of his time with Derek, searching for them across the county. That's when Stiles could really feel the shift in their relationship. It felt like Derek had started to trust him, confide in him. 

He remembers a conversation they once had: 

They were sitting on the porch of the old Hale house, both exhausted after using every moment of the day looking for Erica and Boyd. They had had no luck.

Stiles looked across the forest, the wind gently blowing the trees back and forth, making them dance. The leaves moved to the tune as well, twisting in the air before flying apart. Why was nature acting so calm? Boyd and Erica were missing, the sky should be falling, the ground cracking, but the day was beautiful. It wasn't fair.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispered. 

Derek had turned to him, confusion written on his face. "Why are you sorry?"

"I can't do anything. I can't help you more. I don't have the senses, the abilities, I can't help Erica and Boyd. I just can't -" 

Derek reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him and stopping his rambling. "Stiles, you do everything." 

Stiles breathed out and stared at Derek, he thinks he leaned in slightly, but he came back to himself and turned away. Derek blinked and took his hand back. "I used to feel the same way. I wondered where my place was in my pack. My mother and Laura were natural born leaders. Peter was smart and tactical. Cora was brave and daring. My father was kind and understanding. They all knew who they were, who they wanted to be. But I didn't know."

Stiles was in shock. Derek never spoke that much, especially not about his family. It terrified Stiles but pleased him nonetheless. Derek was speaking to him, and not just to tell him to shut up. It was a miracle. "So, what did you do? How did you fix it?"

Derek was quiet for a moment. "I didn't get the chance to." Stiles' heart broke. It was easy to forget how much Derek had lost. His sister had been murdered by his uncle, his entire family burned alive by his girlfriend, and now two members of his pack were missing, and many presumed them to be dead. If anyone could truly say they had suffered, it was Derek.

Stiles picked up Derek's hand and intertwined their fingers. "I'm sorry," Stiles whispered again, but this time for a different reason. Derek nodded, and incredibly, he let Stiles hold his hand. Stiles had never felt more content. 

The sound of his phone ringing brings Stiles out of his memories. He jumps up and frantically searches through his bag before finally finding his phone. It's not Derek. It's Scott. Stiles shouldn't be disappointed by that. 

"Hey, Stiles, I can't talk for long, but I spoke to Argent and he's going to help find Derek. He's worried that Kate might be involved. He's been tracking her across America and one of his sources spotted her in North Carolina."

"But why would Kate go after Derek? Where does that get her?"

"Maybe she is trying to finish what she started. Derek has been her loose end for years now, and she wants to firmly cut that tie, or maybe it's because she's just a complete psychopath. She could be killing these people and framing Derek to draw him out. That's Argent's theory anyway," Scott sighs. Stiles can hear him rootling around, making him wonder what Scott is doing. 

"That just means we have to get to Derek first. I haven't found anything, and your dad hasn't contacted me, so I have nothing now. Scott, I think I might be getting worried. I've called Derek every day and there is still no reply. I'm half tempted to go searching North Carolina." Stiles packs his things away, knowing he needs to go to dinner before it's too late. 

Scott laughs nervously, unsure if Stiles is joking or not. Stiles isn't sure himself. "Stiles, just stay calm. We'll find him."

"Sorry, probably took too much Adderall today and I just had self-defence, adrenaline might be up," Stiles says.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's it," Scott replies sarcastically. Stiles frowns, what does he mean by that? "Listen, buddy, I've got to go, but we will talk later. Maybe we should Skype, but I need to go. Stay calm, eat something and go to sleep early tonight, you'll feel better."

"Sir, yes, sir," Stiles obeys, making Scott laugh, filling him with happiness. 

It is three days later before Helena has an answer for him. She thumps down next to him during breakfast, holding out a chocolate pastry, and Stiles quickly grabs it and shoves it in his mouth before she can take it away. She rolls her eyes at him, but she is smiling all the same. 

"I talked to my pack," Helena begins and Stiles gives her his full attention, regretfully putting down the pastry. "And they want to meet you as well. You seem to have peaked their interest." 

Stiles swallows before speaking, "When do they want to meet me?" 

"Does tomorrow work for you? I normally try to visit them every few days, and it's about that time. They want you to stay for dinner, if that's alright," Helena poses, and Stiles agrees. This is what he wants, but Stiles can't deny that he's nervous. He's about to enter another werewolf pack's territory. He is really throwing himself to the lions, or wolves, or werewolves, well, you know what he means. 

Oxygen in and carbon dioxide out, Stiles asks, "So, tell me about your pack. What are they like? What should I know to prevent my sudden and violent death?"

Helena grins. She had told Stiles things about her pack before, so he knows they have a big pack of thirty people. Helena has multiple brothers and sisters, but the pack is made up of cousins and aunts and uncles as well. They had even adopted a few omegas when Helena was five. She is the eldest in the family, meaning she is the most protective of them all. Her father is grooming her to be the alpha after him, and Stiles thinks she really suits that role. Just looking at Helena in that moment, Stiles is reminded of Laura Hale. Everything he's been told about her seems to match everything he knows about Helena, and in an odd way, it comforts Stiles. 

"Okay, so when you speak to my dad, don't mention animal testing, Texas, Dell computers, the 1990s, carnivals, junk mail, dog walkers, the colour orange, aeroplane pilots, the Beatles, striped ties or hotel ads," Helena rattles off, each word scaring Stiles even more. He blinks ten times but is still incredibly lost.

"Please tell me that none of that is true," Stiles begs her, his jaw hitting the ground with a resounding thump. 

"Of course, it's all fake, god, you're too easy to mess with. But my dad does hate the idea of animal testing, so he'll just lecture you on it for an hour if you bring it up," Helena shrugs, giggling slightly. 

"You are an evil person, but so am I, so I can't be mad at you," Stiles concedes, picking up the pastry again and finishing it within seconds. 

There is a softness in Helena's eyes when she looks at Stiles, but she clears her throat and pulls Stiles from his seat. "Come on, we've got some psychology to learn." 

The day of the meeting Stiles washes three times, worried that the smallest odour could influence the pack's opinion of him. He changes his clothes multiple times, until his entire floor is littered with t-shirts and jeans. 

A knock filters through the room, so Stiles has to navigate through a sea of outfits before he makes it to the door. He opens it with a large sweep, startling Helena. She sniffs and sneezes. 

"Jesus, how much aftershave did you put on?"

"I'm sorry, I'm nervous. I want to smell good. Normally, I smell like sweat and boy, it's not pleasant, especially for a werewolf," Stiles explains, wiping a hand across his forehead, feeling a nervous sweat already break out.

"Stiles Stilinski, you are hopeless. Let's go, we're going to be late. My brothers are desperate to meet you." The expression on her face terrifies Stiles. Stiles had the sudden image of little werewolf cubs ripping him apart. He wonders if the scene in his mind will become a reality. _Would it be the worst way to go?_ Stiles thinks.

Helena's car is a sleek blue Mini Cooper, a present from her parents for getting accepted into the internship programme. Stiles thinks about Roscoe, currently in Scott's possession. He misses the clicking he would hear whenever he changed gears, the weird smell that he could never get rid of and the stained car seats, either from blood, sweat or other unmentionable substances. He really did think of Roscoe as his baby, held together by duct tape, but his car was just as good as any other, including Jackson's stupid Porsche.

As it turns out, the pack has a designated plot of land in the middle of the Prince William Forest Park. No one is allowed near the territory. Technically, the pack owns the entire forest, but they are trying to be inconspicuous. The drive doesn't take very long, and before Stiles knows it, the car is travelling along a narrow dirt road and a large Victorian style house, not unlike the Hale house, looms into view. 

They step out the car and immediately Stiles sees various members of the pack pour out of the house and gather on the porch. The smell of nature washes over Stiles and it relaxes him, the scent of Beacon Hills Preserve coming back to him. Leaves gather at his feet, crackling as he applies pressure. 

Helena rushes forward and throws herself into an older man's arms, presumably her dad. Stiles awkwardly shuffles up to the porch, and Helena relinquishes her grip on her dad. 

"So, you're the famous Mr. Stilinski?" Mr Danbury asks, extending his hand. Stiles grips his hand, wincing slightly at the strength behind Mr. Danbury's shake. 

"That's me. Wouldn't say I'm famous though," Stiles answers. "Just an expert at making myself noticed, in embarrassing ways mostly." Mr. Danbury chuckles a little, and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe he won't get eaten today. 

Stiles introduces himself to the rest of the pack, even receiving a hug from five-year-old Alexander. Helena's mother, Joy, leads him through into the dining room and sets him down in his designated place at the table. Everyone else takes their seats, Helena sitting next to him holding a baby in her arms. 

"Stiles meet Xavier, he poops whenever he feels like it, pees on anything remotely clean, pukes over all surfaces and only speaks through babbling. Wow, you guys could be twins!" Helena exclaims, smiling widely and jiggling Xavier, making him giggle. 

"Aww, your insults are as basic as Xavier's vocabulary level. Well done though, at least you've improved from last week, your insults then were as interesting as his nappy contents," Stiles retorts, to which not only Helena laughs but her uncle across the table as well. 

"He's funny, I won't eat him," Helena's uncle jokes, or Stiles hopes he's joking. Oh well, it would make an interesting headstone: Mieczyslaw Stilinski, Death by Werewolf. No one can say Stiles isn't unique. 

Mrs. Danbury brings out a fantastic roast and sets it on the table with incredible elegance. It is mouth-watering, and considering for the past few weeks Stiles has only had cafeteria food, which was okay, but home cooked food has never looked better. His dad had never been one for cooking, especially not after his mother, so the best Stiles got was some slightly burnt turkey at Christmas or Chinese takeaway. 

Stiles is worried for a moment they might have to say grace as he wasn't the most religious person, especially after his interactions with the supernatural. But Mr. Danbury just begins cutting the roast and everyone around the table is all smiles. 

Stiles strikes up a conversation with Helena's cousin, Jonathan, telling him all about lacrosse, despite being a benchwarmer, he still loves the game. 

In the middle of telling him about the many mishaps Stiles has had during lacrosse practise and Coach's reaction to such things, Mr. Danbury's voice booms across the room, "So, Stiles, tell us about your pack." 

The question startles Stiles a little, but he recovers quickly and says, "They're great, we're kind of a mixed bunch. Unconventional to say the least." Stiles shrugs, noncommittal, but he's still nervous speaking the words. 

"In what way?" Mrs. Danbury inquires. She picks up another piece of meat and places it in her mouth, it's all so delicate for a werewolf. But all Stiles has had to go on is his experience with his own pack, scrambling over each other to get to the last slice of pizza, play wrestling when someone stole the TV remote and fake yelling when someone sat in their spot on the couch. The memories make Stiles want to laugh and cry. Stiles' guesses what they say is true, you never know how much you are going to miss something until it's gone. 

Helena nudges Stiles, snapping him to the present day, "Uh, the pack isn't entirely made of werewolves, my friends also include banshees, werecoyotes, kitsunes and hunters, so I like to think we are the buffet of all packs." The joke seems to have the desired effect and Stiles blows out a hot breath of relief. 

"You must have some interesting stories to tell," Jonathan says enthusiastically, which causes Stiles to launch into telling everyone some crazy times he's had with the pack, nothing too revealing, nothing too terrible, but all the best things the pack has to offer. 

As they talk, as they connect, Stiles feels himself regaining that feeling of comradery that he had lost since moving to Virginia. Stiles shouldn't be so trusting, but he lets himself relax. They move into the not so subtly named 'den', and Stiles eats so much he thinks he might burst. 

The night passes in the blink of an eye and soon Helena is leading him out of the door, trying to detach Alexander from his ankle. Just as he steps through the threshold, Mr. Danbury calls his name. 

"Thank you for coming tonight, Stiles," says Mr. Danbury. He shakes Stiles hand, grip strong and perhaps bruising. 

"No problem, I had a great time, thanks for letting me come." 

"I won't lie to you, I was worried about your moving to our territory, an encroachment from another pack would have been unsavoury with our current situation," Stiles nods thinking of Xavier and Alexander, "but you seem trustworthy and your pack legitimate, so you are welcome to return to our territory as you please. And it goes unsaid, if you hurt my daughter, I'll tear you apart." Stiles gulps, but chuckles as well, caught between two emotions. He shakes Mr. Danbury's hand again and walks to Helena's car. 

When Stiles reaches for the car door, his ringtone travels through the forest air. Without any hope or forethought, Stiles picks it out of his pocket and clicks answer, not bothering to look at the number. 

It's the sound of gunshots, it's the sound of yells and screams, it's the sound of pure and utter chaos. Stiles quickly checks the number, and, of course, it's Derek, it's finally him, after weeks of calling, it's him. But it's not really him. Stiles is unable to discern any kind of sound that could be him, just roars and shouts. Helena must be able to hear the change in his heartbeat because she gets out the car with a worried expression on her face. 

"Stiles, what's happening? What's wrong?" Helena asks, her eyes wide. 

Stiles ignores her, turning away but pressing the phone as close to his ear as he can. "Derek? Derek! Are you there! Please answer me!"

A roar like no other vibrates through the phone and Stiles knows it's Derek's. And it's not in anger, it's in pain. Stiles' blood runs cold. He jerks a hand through his hair, gripping the ends, and wondering if his chest will be able to contain his heart. 

"Derek! I need you to talk to me! I am begging you! Answer your damn phone!" 

There is one beat of awful broken silence and then he hears it. He hears one word being whispered through the phone, coming from the one person he's been desperate to hear from for what seems like a decade. 

He hears one word, weak and fractured and desperate. 

"Stiles."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Finally got some Sterek! I know it's not a lot but I think it's better than nothing. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the cliff-hanger isn't too much for you. Now that we've reached this point, I'm hoping to get to the action, but I don't want to rush anything. I still don't know how many chapters this is going to be. Thanks for reading.


	5. Journey To The Sourwolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Stiles has a panic attack. If this makes you uncomfortable, please skip the first part.

No air.

No breath. 

No nothing. 

The ground sways under Stiles, and in a heartbeat, he is collapsing on the ground, still clutching the phone in his hand like a vice. His phone beeps telling him the call has ended, but he still whispers Derek's name, terrified of, but desperately wanting a reply. When Stiles finally realises that will be no answer, that horrible object slips through his fingers and Stiles doesn't have the heart to care. 

Stiles can't breathe. It hurts too much. In that moment, it is as if all the bad things Stiles has ever experienced come back to him, hitting him like a tidal wave, crushing him under the pressure. Stiles can't do it. He can't deal with knowing that another person he cares about is hurt, or dying, or even dead. And he can't do anything. It hurts. It hurts too much. 

A presence kneels beside him, reaching out and gripping his shoulders. "Stiles! I need you to breathe! Please, start breathing!" Stiles can't do it, to breathe would mean to live, and living hurts worse than any other kind of pain. Stiles can't even look at her, his vision is blurred and he's lost feeling in his fingers. 

Helena grips even more tightly and forces him to look at her. "Stiles, you can beat this. You're one of the strongest people I know, and we haven't even known each other for very long! That should tell you something! Listen, I can't even begin to understand what you've gone through, but I know from just being with you every day, that you have the power to get over this. So, please, Stiles, just breathe!" 

Stiles breathes. 

All the energy saps from Stiles' body and he falls forward into Helena's arms. Helena clutches him close to her, heartbeats pressed together. Several minutes pass this way, Stiles gathered up in her arms, her hands moving in gentle circles on his back, and Stiles focusing on controlling his breathing.

"Hey, you're okay. You're okay. You're okay," Helena keeps repeating, trying to convince both herself and Stiles. Sometimes he really does feel like he's losing his mind. 

More and more minutes and Stiles starts to feel a semblance of peace once again, so he sits back and stares at Helena. "Thank you," he whispers. 

"Anytime," she whispers back. She pulls him in for a hug, and Stiles gladly accepts, closing his eyes and breathing. "You know what I said was true, right?" Stiles nods against her shoulder. "You may be stupid and impulsive, but I've never had a friend like you before, so I'm not going to let anything happen to you, okay?" 

They let go of each other, and Stiles just smiles at her. "I trust you," he says, and she repeats the same. 

"I guess we're both crazy, huh?" she says, and Stiles chuckles. "My family were worried, but I shooed them away, wouldn't want them to see you losing your marbles."

Stiles grins. "Thanks for that, but I'm pretty sure that from my name they already know I've lost most of my marbles." 

Helena pulls him to his feet and into the car. Stiles rests his head against the window for the remainder of the journey, hating that he can't escape these thoughts of Derek's voice, so vulnerable, saying his name. _Stop thinking about it_ , Stiles orders himself. But Stiles is terrible at following orders. 

Helena parks the car, switching off the engine with a deafening click, but she doesn't get out. Stiles sits in uncomfortable silence, knowing exactly what she is about to ask. 

Stiles doesn't want to talk about it. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel in a loose tune. 

"Do I have a choice?" Stiles says, trying to make a joke out of it, but Helena gives him a blank look. 

"You never have to talk about something you don't want to, but I'm here if you need to."

Stiles starts biting his nails just for something to do, but the action doesn't deter Helena. She just waits until Stiles feels ready. Her gaze never leaves him, but Stiles doesn't feel pressured by it, it lets him know that she's there, in case. 

"I haven't seen Derek in a while," Stiles begins, pausing between each word because he's not sure if he's chosen the right one. "I send him messages, but it's not the same as him actually being there. Today, hearing him, hearing that sound, it kills me that I'm not there, that I can't help him," Stiles stops again, afraid of what's he's going to say, but his mouth had never had a good relationship with his brain. "I tried to hate him when he left us, when he left me, but I could never convince myself. As time went on, I thought I had gotten over it. So much happened. Lydia and I got together. I thought everything was great. But Derek, today, just reminds me that things are never great, and there's no use pretending they are. At least, not when I can do something to actually make things better."

Helena doesn't say a word throughout Stiles' speech, barely even breathes. Stiles turns back to her and finds an unreadable expression on her face.

She is about to say something, then stops, then starts again. "He means a lot to you, doesn't he?" 

Stiles doesn't say anything, but the answer is clear. 

"Stiles, I agreed to help you, and I will, to be entirely honest, I would follow your crazy ass off a mountain top for some reason I can't quite figure out yet, but I need you think about why you're doing this." Stiles blinks, the words sting, and Stiles does and doesn't know why, "and what you're going to be losing by doing this. And finally, what you would be gaining from it." 

Helena's smile is careful, hesitant, but there is an unwavering meaning behind it. Stiles can't deal with this, doesn't want to. This day had been far too much for one person to handle, so he gets out the car and walks back to his dorm room. 

Stiles sits in the middle of his room, just stewing, perhaps in self-pity. His thoughts pull him in every direction, his internal compass completely screwed. And if Stiles can't tell which way is North then how will he know which direction to go?

Stiles stares at his phone, willing and loathing it to start ringing once again. He hates, he loves, that thing. He tries to distract himself by looking at old photos, seeing childhood pictures of himself and Scott playing in the woods (little would they know), one of Lydia and him at the winter formal, Stiles hadn't even known the photographer had snapped the two of them, and Malia chewing on a highlighter while looking over her homework, Stiles loves the look she gets on her face when she finally figures out the problem. Stiles keeps thinking but he gets nowhere. Each thought he has is useless. 

He clicks on her number. She picks up after one ring. "Hey Stiles, how are you?" Malia asks. Stiles smiles, despite everything, Stiles' affection for the werecoyote has only increased, just in a different way from before. 

"I just wanted to talk to you. I need someone reliable to talk to," Stiles replies and he can hear Malia's gentle exhale. 

"What's on your mind? Just remember when you were sick, I went out and brought back a dead rabbit thinking it would help, so I might not have the best bedside manner." Both Malia and Stiles chuckle a little. 

"So, I'm assuming Scott and Lydia have been keeping you updated on everything, about Derek and the new werewolf pack, but I just want a general answer to a question, if that's alright." He can imagine Malia nodding on the other side of the phone. "If I had the opportunity to do something crazy, something that would have so many repercussions, not just for me and definitely not all positive, should I do it? Even though at the end of the day, it could cost me everything?" 

"Stiles, isn't that what your life has been like for the past four years? Your life has been an insane mixture of positives and negatives, and you've come out on the plus side. Maybe this is the way you're supposed to live your life? Maybe it's the only way, especially for someone like you," remarks Malia, each word punctuated and stated as fact. 

"Someone like me," Stiles repeats. 

"Someone fiercely loyal, someone that if we needed would get on the first flight back to California to help, someone who texts his pack every day to make sure they're okay." The tone of finality tells Stiles that conversation is over. It seems as if Malia has made his choice for him, despite not really knowing anything about the actual situation. 

"You know you're awesome, right?" Stiles grins, hoping it will be sent through the phone as well. 

"Yes, I am aware of that." They keep speaking for another half an hour, and it feels good to speak to Malia without the fear or reservations as there once was. Stiles thinks she sounds happy, and she deserves that and so much more. 

Just as they are about to hang up, she says, "Stiles, the bottom line is, if you think this is the right thing to do, do it. Trust yourself." 

Stiles resigns himself to the fact that no matter how much trouble will be caused from his action, he is going to find Derek. He prints the thousands of documents that he had saved over the past weeks about anything remotely linked to Derek. He starts pinning them to his board, pulling out his trusty balls of coloured string. Each piece of string wrapped around a pin marks a passage of time and as the clock strikes one, the board is entirely covered in paper and string. It is more detailed than any other investigation he has done before, and that is saying something. 

He takes a step back, reviewing his work, seemingly tracking Derek all the way from Chicago to Portland to Dallas to Philadelphia. He wonders if this information is true, if so Derek has been on the run for a rather long time and a long distance. Stiles is in the middle on isolating the specifics of each of the locations identifiers when he receives a text from none other than Agent Dickbiscuit. 

_You have one chance. I vouched for you and your supposed expertise. You lived in Beacon Hills, famous for uncanny animal attacks, not unlike Derek's case, and your background with being the Sheriff's son and your internship elevated your experiences and your interpretations of such events. Don't fail me. I'll contact you with more details._

_Rafe McCall_

Stiles isn't sure how he should react, if he should start jumping up and down with joy or buckle down and keep working harder than ever before. Which reminds him, he has a report due for tomorrow and he has only written the title. Stiles decides to save the merry dance for when they actually find Derek and gets to work on his report, providing an analysis and evaluation on different interrogation techniques used in different cultures. Stiles finishes quickly so he can get back to his real investigation. 

Stiles compares reports from eyewitnesses of the supposed mass murderer and finds some discrepancies, one man noting Derek to only be 5ft 5, a woman believing him to be of Chinese origin and an old lady who swears he had bright orange hair. Either Derek has become masterful at the act of disguise or this information is more than a little false. Stiles continues to read through each of the reports and comes back to the one he really thinks describes Derek, dark hair, muscular build, harsh expression and that damned leather jacket. That was in the North Carolina area a few months ago, which must have given the F.B.I. the profile they needed to identify Derek, and considering his previous history, it wouldn't be hard to convince someone of his guilt. 

Stiles decides that looking for Derek might be useless, so he uses a different method. He tries to find Kate. He scans the internet for hours, hoping to find a trace of that insane woman, and finally he does. She had been spotted in Alabama robbing a convenience store off the highway. From that, Stiles decides to track other cases of a supposedly feral homeless woman causing destruction across North America, and it all comes back to North Carolina, about the same time Derek was spotted. Not a coincidence. Stiles continues to troll the internet, but her reports stop, maybe because she found what she was looking for. Maybe the entire time she was 'robbing' those stores, she was searching for information about Derek's whereabouts and tracked him to North Carolina, just like the F.B.I. If that's the case, then Derek is in deep shit and no time can be wasted. He already knows that something has happened to Derek, now Stiles is just more convinced that Kate is the perpetrator. He needs to find Derek and he needs to find him now.

Stiles has his laptop, I-Pad and phone all set out in front of him, each searching for Derek, but there have been no more reports of this kind, so Stiles tries another way, to see if there have been any bizarre animal attacks or noise complaints in the North Carolina area in the past few weeks, and not unsurprisingly, he finds them. Hunters and farmers out in the forested areas reporting sounds, despite North Carolina having a red wolf population, these roars are unlike anything they had ever heard before. This gives Stiles a good idea that Derek had been in the area for a while, and recently, but the reports do end, either from Derek moving on or people growing tired of reporting the same noises and the authorities doing nothing to stop them. 

Stiles tries another tactic. If Derek was hurt, he would need a place to heal, somewhere isolated and unknown to hunters. Stiles tries to remember his conversations with Derek about secure locations in other parts of America if the pack were ever to get into any trouble while away.

"But what if we met another rogue pack and they came after us, but we wouldn't have the comfort of Beacon Hills, we wouldn't know the territory, so we need other locations to keep us safe until we come up with a plan or get rescued. Doesn't it make sense to just tell me?"

Derek had just looked at him with barely contained frustration. "One: if I tell you about these places, it does not give you an invitation to start messing round with other supernatural creatures to check out the practicality of these safe houses. Two: these locations are special, isolated and secured with protective barriers harmful to creatures who don't know their way around. And three: they are filled with dangerous weapons, which if you get your dirty little hands on, will kill you, and I'll have to deal with it. Touch something you're not supposed to, and I'll break you. Got it?" Stiles had just grinned, used to Derek's banter about torturing him, and pulled him over to the map spread out on the table and made him mark out each of the locations. Derek and Stiles had spent the rest of the night eating pizza and watching old movies. It was the most normal thing they'd ever done together. 

Stiles returns to his own body and pull up an image on his phone of the map, and just as he was expecting, Derek had marked out a large abandoned storage unit on the outskirts of the Mark Twain National Forest, about an hour and a half drive from St. Louis. If Stiles had to guess, that's where Derek went, it would be the only place that could provide him with materials to recuperate. Stiles thinks this is a huge leap, but it's best answer he has. Derek was in the area, he knows this location and believes it to be secure, he's injured, it would seem fairly logical. In any case, Stiles has to try. 

He breathes out and stretches his aching fingers. He then grabs his phone and furiously types out:

_I know where Derek is. I'll take you to him as long as you promise to help him, not hurt him._

Stiles lies down on his bed, checking his phone every few minutes to see if he's received a reply. Eventually, his eyes grow heavier and he's fast asleep within seconds.

***

Stiles has to keep calm. But it's been a week. A whole motherfucking week! Each assignment, each trial, each task Stiles completes just reminds him that he's not out there looking for Derek. He tries his best to keep his thoughts of frustration and strangling to himself, but sometimes, he just can't keep everything contained, his body isn't built that way. 

Firearms practise gives him the opportunity to let go of some of his emotions and Stiles thinks that the extra focus is really helping him improve his abilities. Who would have thought it? Stiles Stilinski, good with a gun. 

Just as Stiles reloads, the instructor moving him towards the more advanced targets, Helena steps up behind him and asks, "Anything yet?"

Everything clicks into place and Stiles readies himself. "Nope, nothing." He sends multiple rounds flying through the air, most finding their target, a few off centre but that was understandable. Stiles wasn't _that_ good. 

Stiles and Helena didn't talk about their conversation in the car, because Stiles didn't want to, and Helena didn't want to upset him. That's the thing, it shouldn't upset him, but it does, and Stiles can't, won't, think about why. She came over every night after, helping him look through each document and stopping him from sending insulting voicemails to Agent Mouth-breather. For someone that once the full moon is in the sky, runs about the woods in wolf form howling like there's no tomorrow, she is surprisingly good at calming Stiles. 

"It's been a week and I am this close to storming his office and punching him in the face. I mean, what is he doing, picking his bellybutton fuzz?" Stiles growls, angrily reloading once again, shoving bullets into their holds with such force he's surprised they don't get crushed. 

Stiles fires repeatedly, trying to let go of his anger but the firing only serves to increase his frustrations, and Helena quickly intercedes, reaching out and taking Stiles' gun away from him. 

"Enough Stiles, you're going to kill someone shooting like that, and if you do you'll be arrested, and then who will tell me pointless facts about ancient Greek fertility symbols?" Helena chastises him.

Stiles breathes out heavily, "You're right, no one could ever tell those stories like I could, especially the one about the satyrs."

Helena shivers, perhaps to be dramatic, maybe in general disgust. "Ugh, don't remind me, I still have nightmares about them." 

Stiles smirks a little, the memory firmly marked in his mind. Once Helena decides Stiles isn't about to go full blown serial killer, he hands him back his gun. The instructor stops at their station and adjust Stiles' positioning of his hands, and he finds that his aim does get better, which isn't the best for the target as Stiles continues to obliterate it in an ill-fated attempt of escapism. 

At four o'clock, they are dismissed, and Stiles decides to go back to his dorm room before dinner. Helena tags along, hoping to steal some of his notes on gun control for their next assignment. 

Stiles opens his door to find an unwelcome guest. "Agent McCall, to what do I owe this displeasure? Finally bothering to talk to me? Or are you here to torture information out of me?"

"Shut up, Stilinski. Pack up your things. You're coming with me. Now," the cretin commands him. 

Stiles is mystified. "Do you think it would be that easy? I'm not going anywhere or telling you anything, until I have your firm assurance that you won't harm Derek once we've found him." Stiles crosses his arms, trying out his tough guy act. He thinks it's working? 

Agent D-bag looks over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow at Helena, who has been silent but an unmoving force behind Stiles during the conversation. "Perhaps we shouldn't be discussing this in front of a fellow intern." 

"She knows. She knows everything. And if you were better agent than you are a father, you would already know she's a werewolf as well. You really need to work on your detective skills," Stiles grits out. 

Helena snorts behind him and it helps Stiles not to launch himself at the Agent and wrap his hands around his neck. Stiles is glad that she isn't planning on hurting him for exposing her. Agent Joffreywannabe looks furious, his face settled on the emotion of hatred. Not unsurprising.

"Very well. You possess required information, so you have my word that Derek will not harmed. Now, please, get ready before I do some murdering of my own." The Agent runs a hand across his forehead, trying to smooth out his wrinkle lines, more than a couple probably caused by interactions with Stiles Stilinski. 

"That's not good enough. I need your promise that none of your men will harm him either. I'm already worried that something has happened to him, I don't need your guys finishing off the job," Stiles says. 

"I have spoken to my men and my superiors and we have discussed two possible methods of apprehension, and if you so insist, then we will take the subtler approach, non-violent. But just because we have restricted lethal methods does not excuse Derek from all charges, he is still accused of mass murder and needs to be arrested. Unless you can provide another suspect." 

"Actually, I can, dickbag," Stiles can't stop himself from verbal insulting him, it is just too easy. "Kate Argent, she's insane, she has a vendetta against Derek and a certain penchant for tearing people apart. I tracked her to North Carolina just like you did with Derek. She's doing this to draw him out, she started the Hale fire, it shouldn't be that much of a jump to figure out that she wants to end what she began those years ago." Stiles has to take a deep breath after his speech. Stiles doesn't add all the things that have probably contributed to Kate's state over the past few years, including her father's comeback, her becoming a werejaguar and Allison's death. Just thinking Allison's name makes Stiles weak. Stiles doesn't think he'll get over it, ever. It will be part of him. Her and it. _Stop it, just stop thinking about that_ , Stiles reprimands himself.

The Agent just stares at him, before sighing and speaking, "Very well, Stiles. I'll take your statements into account, but there will need to be more debate and investigation before they can be seen as reliable or even truthful." Stiles nods, accepting the procedure. "Now, for the love of God, please just pack your things so we can get out of here, at least once you've disclosed the location." His gaze holds Stiles fast, but Stiles is a wriggler. 

"Wait," Helena says, finally participating in conversation. "If you're going somewhere, I'm coming with you. And I am definitely not letting you take Stiles anywhere dangerous without proper reinforcement." There is a definitive strength behind her words. Stiles wonders if Agent Dickforbrains is impressed or annoyed that Stiles has managed to find a friend just as exasperating as he is. 

Stiles grins to the extent that his cheeks hurt. Helena is fantastic. "I have already stuck my neck out on your behalf Mr. Stilinski, taking an untrained intern into high-risk territory is one hell of a favour I am asking for. There is not a chance in hell I am letting another jump in on this case."

"I am not 'another'. I am a werewolf with plenty of experience in so called high risk territories, and if you don't let me come, I will just as easily trail behind you, whether you like it or not."

The Agent looks like he's on the verge of pulling his hair from his head. "You two will never will never give up, will you?" 

Both Stiles and Helena shake their heads, smiles all round. 

"Fine, but I won't sanction another teenager on this mission. If you so desire to join us, you will remain hidden and only reveal yourself in dire straits. You are not part of this mission, you are here to ensure Mr. Stilinski's safety in case of emergency. I've already cleared Stiles' absence for an unforeseen period, but I will do the same for you, except yours will be for family purposes. Is that all clear?" Stiles is flummoxed at Agent Knuckle-Dragger's agreement, but loves it all the same. Under his breath the Agent mutters, _I am so dead._

After ironing out some details, negotiating place and timing, he leaves the room, ordering Stiles to be at the reception at 0600 tomorrow morning, on the dot. Stiles agrees readily, his excitement and nervousness building as he is now going to find Derek. Finally. 

Helena turns, and Stiles hugs her close to him, her dark hair tickling his nose. He breathes out a shaky breath. Helena must smell his fears, so she tightens her grip and whispers, "It'll be okay, we'll find him." 

Stiles' lips twitch upwards. "Yeah, we will, won't we?" 

Helena and he go to dinner, eating quickly so they can go back to his room and study, finishing their assignments for the next few days, hoping that they won't miss too much while they are away. Stiles remembers everything he said to Scott, more or less telling him to leave the supernatural behind, despite being a werewolf. Now Stiles knows better, no matter how far you go, the supernatural has a way of infiltrating your life. He remembers telling his dad about the F.B.I., how proud he was:

Stiles had run into the kitchen flourishing the letter of acceptance and shoving it under his dad's nose. 

"Dad, look! Look, look, look! I got accepted!" Stiles practically yelled. 

The Sheriff snatched the letter, quickly glanced over it picking out the key words, 'accepted', 'F.B.I.' and 'internship', and then whooped as loud as he could. "Oh my god! Stiles, this is incredible!" He had grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and shook him, smile as wide as the sun. His dad had hugged him harder than ever before. It was one of the greatest moments in his life. 

Before he went to bed that night, his dad had said, "I've never been happier for you, or prouder." 

Now Stiles worries that this mission will ruin everything he has with the F.B.I., what he had given his dad by being accepted. He didn't want to lose this opportunity, he didn't want to make his dad upset, not again. But Stiles knows he has to do this, he would never forgive himself if he didn't save Derek. 

Once Helena leaves, promising to be outside his room at five thirty in the morning, bags packed, Stiles gets to work packing his own things. He restrains himself, packing only what's necessary, but considering he doesn't know how long he'll be away for, Stiles just thinks he'll have to re-wear things. Anyway, he can deal with a little stink. 

He sends a quick message to his dad and the pack, being especially vague about his plans, not wanting to worry them. Stiles guesses that that is exactly what his father and the pack are doing to him right now as well. He knows they are hiding something, but he can figure that all out after he's found Derek. There are just too many things to do and Stiles is just the one person. 

Stiles crawls into bed, hoping to sleep early. He lies there for a while, a thousand thoughts spinning, pinching, stabbing. He concentrates on one thought, one positive thought: 

Tomorrow, he is going to find Derek. 

Let the journey to the sourwolf commence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, the journey is about to begin. I hope you've enjoyed this story so far and it is keeping you interested. I don't have any firm plans for this story but I am hoping to get some real Sterek very soon. Thank you for reading!


	6. X Marks The Werewolf

Stiles is on the verge of exploding. 

He is sitting in the back of a F.B.I. vehicle on his way to the Mark Twain National Forest, Stiles' best guess on Derek's whereabouts. Agent KillMeNow must have one hell of a silvertongue to be able to convince his superiors to allow him to be on this mission, or he called in one massive favour. In all honesty, Stiles doesn't care, he's here and this is happening. 

There are multiple men, all possessing brooding expressions that could rival Derek Hale's, surrounding him. Stiles wonders that if it turns out he's wrong about Derek's location, they will take the opportunity to pummel him. Stiles thinks Agent DeathWarmedUp would love the chance to watch Stiles get what's coming to him, would probably record it and post it on YouTube, smiley face and everything. Stiles continues to stare at each of them, noting the one to his right is bald and has dark eyes stolen straight from Satan, the one to his left has a hard jawline and hands that could snap a tree in half. Each of the men could kill him with their gaze. Maybe that was the Agent's purpose all along, make Stiles so paranoid about his own allies attacking him, so he'll do nothing crazy during the actual action? _Oh my God, I'm going to die before I ever actually get to Derek,_ Stiles thinks. Stiles has to pinch himself to stop thinking those thoughts, and even then, they still linger in the background. 

The truck hits a bump and Stiles is jostled into the Satanic lookalike, to which he is sent a death glare as if Stiles' very presence insults him. Oh well, not like Stiles hasn't been sent that look a thousand times before. 

Stiles thinks about Helena, running behind the trucks, keeping herself inconspicuous. He does worry about her, but she assured him several times of her ability to keep running all the way there. Stiles took all her bags so all she is running with is the clothes on her back, hopefully making the journey easier. But he wishes she was with him, it would steady his nerves if she was here, or at least keep the barbarians at bay. 

Stiles thinks maybe he should try and get some sleep, but decides against it, wanting to be completely awake when they arrive. He can't help himself, he starts shaking his leg, letting go of some of his nervous energy. Kind of. 

"Hey, mind quitting your leg shaking? You're making me nervous and I've been doing this job for ten years," sighs the man across from him. He looks to be in his early 30s, relatively friendly features and broad build. 

Stiles bites his lip, stopping his shaking, but now his energy has nowhere to go. He starts picking at his nails. 

"Kid, stop it. You're not helping yourself by doing that," the man tells him. Stiles slightly resents being called a 'kid', but right now he doesn't have the brain space or vocal capacity to dispute it. "This is your first mission, right?" Stiles nods. "You'll be fine, we'll look out for you." Stiles glances around at each of the men, unsure if they would really follow through with that statement. "I'm Agent Russell, just for future reference."

"Stiles," he replies, assuming the Agent would want to know his name as well. 

"Well Stiles, we'll be there soon, be given a full brief and carry out the mission. Easy. So, relax." Stiles scrunches up his nose in confusion, when has his life ever been easy? And if Stiles knows the supernatural as well as he thinks he does, these men are in for a wild ride. But he does as he's told, and hunches down into his seat, waiting for the ride to be over. 

Stiles thinks about his friends. He wonders what they're doing, if they're safe, if they're happy. Whenever Stiles calls or texts one of them, they act completely normal, which only tips Stiles off that something is wrong. Stiles thinks he should have called Lydia this morning, telling her what he was doing, but for some reason he didn't. He didn't want to speak to anyone about his reasons for doing this. Maybe it's easy to guess, but Stiles won't let himself name it. Stiles is just too confused to do anything but keep one foot moving in front of the other, and even then, he stumbles. He's fucked. 

Would Lydia be happy about what he's doing? Would she be angry? Would she try and stop him? The more Stiles thinks about it, the more he's convinced he's in the wrong. He should have called her, she's his girlfriend, and they shouldn't keep secrets, right?

Stiles pulls out his phone, fully intent on coming clean to Lydia, when Agent Russell snatches the object out of his hand. 

Stiles is about to throw verbal daggers like he's never thrown before, when the Agent says, "No phones, no forms of communication with the outside world until this is over. We don't need anyone tracking us." He shuts down the phone and places it in his pocket, perfectly sealed. 

Anger bristles within Stiles. He wants to grab his phone, not caring about the consequences and call Lydia, but he knows that he could jeopardise the whole mission, he would be sacrificing Derek, something he will never do. So, he remains silent, with a passive-aggressive look staining his face. At least now, he has a semblance of an excuse if Lydia asks him why he didn't call her. 

With a long sigh of relief, coming from both Stiles and the vehicle, they arrive on the outskirts of the Mark Twain National Forest, north of Derek's supposed position. They pour of the van, each man taking their position, looking so stoic they might as well be plastic. Stiles kind of shuffles behind them, not entirely knowing his status. If he asked Agent Anal-lover about it, he would probably be shoved face down in the dirt, his so called 'position'.

Like saying Beetlejuice too many times, the asshat steps out of his own van and parks himself in front of them, glancing over their heads and setting Stiles with a harsh glare. 

"Alright men, be aware that this is a dangerous fugitive that are we are about to approach so I want stealth and precision on all sides. We will set up equipment around the perimeter of the location and send some scouts to assess the likelihood of the criminal being present. If found, nightfall would give us the best cover to then make our approach and apprehend the suspect. You each know your assigned roles, so you are dismissed at this moment. Mr. Stilinski, come with me please." Agent Dickfucker heads over to his van without a backwards glance. 

Stiles separates himself from the group, Agent Russell giving him a little wave as he does, but Stiles doesn't forgive him for practically stealing his phone. 

"Can I help you with something, _sir_?" Stiles spits at Agent McAwful sarcastically. The look in the Agent's eyes stops Stiles from hissing any more insults. 

"Stiles, I am risking a lot because of you. I hope you know that." Stiles guesses on some level he does recognise that, but frankly, it's not high on his list of priorities. "And if you're wrong about Derek, we are both in a world of trouble. And if you're right, you know we have to take Derek in." Stiles isn't happy about that aspect, because he is convinced of Derek's innocence, but how else will he prove that fact if Derek is not standing in front of the F.B.I. giving his perspective? "And, for the love of God, stay safe. Your father and my son would kill me if something happened to you, so if you see danger, you run the other way, I don't care if it's Derek, or it's Helena, you run, and you don't look back." 

Stiles thinks the Agent must be out of his mind to ever even entertain the possibility that Stiles would do that. If something happened, Stiles would be in the middle of it, as he always is. He may be human, but he can help. Stiles isn't afraid for himself, he never is, he is always afraid for the ones he cares about. He doesn't matter if the others are safe. But Stiles tells Agent Dipshit what he wants to hear. 

He lies. Easily. 

With that, the Agent moves on, re-evaluating the positioning of some of his men. An hour later he is sending some of them to scout the location, to see if there is any sign of Derek. Stiles waits with bated breath. Is he there? Is he okay? Does he know we're coming? 

The reply comes: there are signs of life within the building. Stiles is so relieved, he might collapse. As soon as the information comes, Agent Makesmyearsbleed begins preparations for the next move.

Stiles paces around the location, getting more and more distant from the group. He realises he might have gone a bit too far just when a hand reaches out and grabs him, pulling him into the forest. Stiles nearly screams.

"Shut up, you wimp. It's me," scolds Helena. Stiles sighs, hating that she has this ability to terrify him whenever she likes. Stupid werewolf abilities. Still, Stiles is happy to see her, it adds an air of normalcy to this abnormal situation. "Are you okay? What's going on?" she asks, so Stiles tells her. She nods as he explains the plan to move at dark then take the building. 

"Doesn't sound like such a bad idea. If Derek's injured, it should be an easy capture," she says absentmindedly. Stiles shoots her a sharp look and she holds up her hands in surrender. "Sorry, I'm sure he will be fine. Just make sure he comes quietly. It will make things easier for both of you." 

"Derek is not one for that kind of behaviour. He is an action-oriented kind of guy. The planning has always been my job," Stiles informs her. 

"From what you've told me, if you ask him, he'll do it." Helena smiles, but Stiles is confused. What does that mean? "Well, go on, don't want them thinking you've run away." Stiles rolls his eyes, but makes the move to leave. 

"Wait." She hugs him. It's nice. Stiles isn't much of one for hugging, but he likes them when they are from the right people. "Stay safe, okay? And I'll have your back."

"Me? Get into trouble? Who do you think you're talking to?" Stiles grins at her, and she just shakes her head, hating his sarcasm more than ever. 

Stiles leaves her, promising to be careful, but once again, Stiles lies. Too easy.

When Stiles returns, the team are beginning the advance to the location. Stiles joins them, gun stuck to his hip (Agent Party-pooper did not like giving him it, but it was argued necessary for his protection). As they walk, Stiles feels as if he's walking on a razor's edge, the tension so palpable you could cut a knife through it, quick gasps of breath coming from each man in anticipation, and the ever present knowledge of the fight to come. 

They arrive just outside a large warehouse, taking cover on the designated points that Stiles had told them about. No point in letting these men die in a horribly intricate supernatural trap built for kanimas when he can prevent it. Agent Russell points out their spot and they move to hide behind it. He clicks his gun, sending a shiver down Stiles' spine. It really hits Stiles as he takes his position behind a shed type building, that this will be the first time he's seen Derek in years. But it's not the reunion he wanted, the F.B.I. at his back, Derek accused of mass murder and Kate Argent on their tail. 

Wait.

Kate.

No. 

Stiles is about to yell a warning when the world shatters around them. 

Wood, brick and dust goes flying all around them, piercing bodies, earth, finding no distinction between the living and non-living. Why does it have to be like this? Why can it never be easy, for once? Stiles is just meant to find Derek and save him. Stiles knows the answer to his own useless question. The supernatural is never predictable, is never easy. 

When Stiles starts to regain his senses, he sees Agent Russell on the ground beside him, clutching his side, a large piece of wood protruding from the skin, inexplicably managing to find the smallest opening between the Agent's Kevlar vest and his skin. The sight is almost enough to make Stiles vomit, but he rushes forward anyway and tries to stop the bleeding. The Agent is conscious, so Stiles tries to reassure him, "You're okay. We'll sort this. You're okay." Stiles keeps his hands pressed to the Agent's side, until his hands are firmly coated in blood, until the concept of skin seems non-existent. _Stay calm,_ Stiles repeats in his mind. But he can't. This is insane. Stiles is starting to hear gunfire, shouts, screams. 

What is happening? 

Then Agent Deathtoallgoodness is there, yelling at him to get out of here. But Stiles can't do that. He needs to find Derek. He needs to make sure Helena is safe. So, as RottweilerRafe is seemingly distracted by Agent Russell's wounds, Stiles speeds off, leaving nothing but his tracks in the dirt. There are shouts behind him, but he doesn't stop. He runs for the warehouse, heart in his throat, stomach dropping and mind splintered. The building is standing, mostly, the east side has completely collapsed in on itself. 

Stiles is trying to assess the best entrance way when he is tackled tothe ground by a massive force. He lands with a loud thump of pain, knocking all the air from his body. Has something broken? 

Stiles gets a look at his attacker, and it is seemingly another hunter that Kate has hired to fulfil her personal vendetta. He is all brawn, no discernible features in all honesty, just pure muscle. 

Shit. 

The beefcake grins at him. "She said you would come. You're too easy." 

"You think so?" Stiles spits at him, at the same time tipping his leg up and kneeing the asshole right in the groin. Stiles takes the moment of distraction to smack his arms outwards and push himself up and away from the man. The look of shock on the man's face is so sweet. Stiles' guesses Kate told him that he would be a simple target. 

Not anymore. 

Stiles lands on top of him and raises his fist, punching the living daylights out of the brute, hurting himself probably as much as he is the man, but it's worth it. He punches him again, and again, which is when blood starts to spill. 

The liquid infuriates the man, and quickly he is forcing himself upwards and throwing Stiles to the ground once again. Stiles is kicked in the chest, causing a shoe shaped imprint on his lungs. There is a fist landing on his head, spinning his thoughts, there is a fist on his jaw, sending blinding pain spiralling through him, a fist to his throat, choking his breath. Once he decides Stiles is docile enough, he flicks out a knife and Stiles knows that death is close. 

One breath, and he'll be dead. 

As if time has suddenly slowed down, Stiles remembers the gun still securely attached to his hip, so he scrambles for it as the knife is raised over his heart, and he fires. 

He hits him. In the shoulder, not fatal, but enough to make the man rethink his actions, but not for long. He advances, ready to continue, but Stiles fires again, this time in his other shoulder. He drops the knife, clutching the wounds. Stiles kicks the man's legs out from under him, making him collapse and now there seems to be no chance of being followed. He'll live, but Stiles reckons he deserves some pain. Stiles doesn't want to dwell on the thoughts though, they remind him of old times. But he reassures himself, this is self-defence? Isn't it?

Stiles runs away, trying the west entrance, finding it to be most stable. Stiles is covered in blood and grime. This is not how he wanted to look when he saw Derek again. But shit happens. 

Just as he reaches the doorway, a splattering of gunfire hits the wall next to him, making Stiles dive for cover under some upraised planks of wood. There are more bangs, deafening Stiles. He would fire back but he doesn't know where the attacker is, and he doesn't want to waste his bullets. His heartrate is going through the roof. There is danger on all sides. What should he do? 

Stiles is about to risk a glance behind his shelter to see his attacker, when he is forcefully pulled back by none other than Helena. She looks worse than Stiles has ever seen before. Werewolf healing can only go so far. She is in a similar state to Stiles, blood, grime and maybe some unmentionables. That better not be bone. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you stupid idiot! You're supposed to be running away from death, not towards it!" Helena screams at him, gripping his shoulders to the point of pain. Her voice is just loud enough to carry over the chaos, but the destruction desires to be heard, it is growing more insistent.

"If you thought for a second I would run, you are crazy," Stiles snaps at her, forcing her to relinquish her grip. Her mouth is set in a hard, grim line, a full scowl. She looks ready to grab him and carry him out of here over her shoulder. 

There is more gunfire, this time closer, the shooter isn't far away. They are coming. A bullet whizzes past Stiles ear, mere inches away from hitting him.

"I'll deal with this one. You stay here. I mean it. If you move, I will kill you myself. We are getting out of here. There is nothing we can do," orders Helena. Stiles stares at her. He doesn't say anything because if he did, she would hear the lie in his already trembling heartbeat. 

Helena jumps out from behind the shelter, fangs elongated, claws extended, a fierce creature that Stiles doesn't want to face when he too moves away from the shelter and towards the entrance. 

Just as he steps through the threshold, he whispers, "I'm sorry," to her, not knowing if she will hear him, but he needs to say it. He can't leave Derek. He doesn't have that much strength. 

Stiles pushes through the mess, throwing brick and plaster out of his way, searching for any sign of the sourwolf. He decides to risk it, he calls Derek's name.

"Derek? Derek! Are you there?" Stiles clambers over a support beam, knowing he is close to the east side already. Still no sign of Derek. 

Stiles is turning a corner, finding himself in what once used to be a corridor type space, when he is tackled for the second time tonight. Stiles doesn't have much strength left, the adrenaline wearing off, so the pain of his injuries starts to come back to him in short, sharp bursts, but he uses his remaining supply to twist and face the assailant. He finds the person he wants to see. 

It's Derek.

It's really him.

Stiles can't help himself, he smiles uncontrollably, stretching his aching jaw, but he can't stop. It's him. Finally. 

The joy of the reunion is short-lived as Stiles really looks at Derek. He looks terrible, face ashen and black veins of pain wrapping themselves up his body, just beginning the approach on his face. But Derek looks more furious than ever. 

"What the hell are you doing here, Stiles! What were you thinking!" Derek yells, reinitiating the grip Helena had ten minutes ago. 

After everything Stiles has been through tonight, he thinks he deserves more appreciation, so he yells right back, "I was thinking I could help! I sent you a thousand messages, you never replied! You could have been dead! I had to come!" 

Derek searches his eyes, and it's in that moment, that Stiles realises that Derek is still on top of him, and their faces are a hairbreadth away from each other. This time when Stiles' heart skips a beat, it's for another reason. 

Derek sighs deeply and gravely, "You have no idea what danger you've put yourself in. I can't protect you. I'm sorry." Stiles can feel Derek's shaky exhale on his face, whether it's because of the situation, Stiles, or the pain, is impossible to tell.

"I'll be fine. I can look after myself." Stiles tries to smile, but Derek isn't convinced. "Come on, we should get out of here. You know, before the building collapses." Then it is Derek's turn to realise he is still lying on top of Stiles. Stiles is sure he needs his eyesight checked, because he could have sworn there was a small blush brightening Derek's cheeks for a few seconds. No, that's insane. 

Derek helps him to his feet. Stiles doesn't know who moves first but suddenly they are hugging. If Stiles thinks he isn't much of one for hugs, Derek is even less giving, so it is a miracle for this to happen. But Stiles is happy in Derek's arms, he leans into the werewolf's touch, taking a heartbeat to absorb the warmth. Stiles finds the pain being leeched from his body, so he quickly wrenches himself away from Derek. 

"Don't. You're already in pain. I can deal with mine." Stiles is determined. He won't let Derek argue with him on this point.

"Stiles, have you seen yourself? You are covered in blood and bruises." Derek reaches out again, but Stiles smacks the hand away. 

"It's not mine." _Mostly,_ Stiles thinks. "Anyway, you are in a worse condition than I am. How can we help you?" Derek shrugs, meaning he doesn't know. Stiles grunts in frustration, knowing they don't have a lot of time. "Okay, you were shot, right?" Derek nods, but there is an element of confusion on his face. Does he not remember the phone call? "So, we just need to find the bullet to counteract it. And you told me this place was filled with supplies so there must be something here to fix you." 

After some debate, they make their way further into the east side, where the medical supplies are supposed to be. And even though Derek isn't happy about it, Stiles volunteers to go scavenging, as he is possessing less injuries. Derek tells him he was hit with a special bullet, that they are unlikely to find a matching one, so Stiles is meant to look for Yellow Monkshood, also known as healing wolfsbane. Derek wasn't here long enough to have a good look around before the building was blown up, so he has only a general idea of the internal schematics. 

Stiles slips his way through the broken walls, arriving in a mostly collapsed room. Shattered glass covers the floor, so he tries his best not to trip. Stiles moves towards the broken cabinets and shelves that are now all clumped in piles around the room. He rakes through them, scratching himself multiple times, before coming across a variety of different medications, bullets and wolfsbane, assuring Stiles he is in the right place. At long last he acquires the desired object. It seems to have survived quite well, crushed in some places, but Stiles hopes it will still have the same effect. He carefully tucks it in his pocket. 

He is just making it back to Derek when a massive screech comes from the boards above him. He makes the mistake of looking upwards and is frozen in shock as he sees a large section of the roof about to fall on top of him. Stiles thinks his luck has finally run out. There are only so many near death experiences you can have before you are finally claimed. He loses all abilities as he sees the roof about to come crashing in. 

Then, in a second, he is being snatched, stolen through the air and landing far enough away from the collapsing roof to be saved. But not for long. The entire structure is one gust of wind away from total annihilation. Stiles realises Derek just saved his life. Despite looking worse than ever and the building's eventual outcome, Derek seems to be on the war path, ready to destroy Stiles for his risk taking. But Stiles just brandishes the wolfsbane, forcing it into Derek's mouth and shoving him towards the exit. 

When they stumble through the barrier, relatively clean air greeting them, Derek's health already seems to have improved greatly. But any small relief they gain is very small indeed as three men emerge from the darkness, aiming guns towards Stiles and Derek, making them dive to the sides as bullets are sprayed through the air. _We just can't catch a break,_ Stiles curses at the universe. 

It's then Stiles notices the smell of burning in the air and sees that the warehouse has now been set on fire. It is clawing its way towards the forest, desperate to set ablaze anything alive. They are so fucked. 

The Darth Musketeers make the mistake of stepping forward and soon they are falling to the ground with differing injuries caused by Derek's claws. Even Stiles is impressed with Derek's speed, especially after his sickness only a few minutes ago. Derek is breathing heavily over the bodies, looking tempted to finish them off, so Stiles hauls himself to his feet and starts pushing Derek towards the woods. 

"We have to get out of here. I have no idea how the F.B.I. will react to this, but it won't be good." Stiles whips his head around trying to find anyone he recognises, but smoke blurs his vision and he's too scared to see someone he does know in case something has happened to them. Is Helena okay? Stiles prays that she is, even though she is going to kill him after what he's done.

"You can't come with me. It's not safe." The concrete expression on Derek's face isn't enough to deter Stiles. Derek should know that. 

"I'm not leaving you. Not again." Both Stiles and Derek are shocked as the words fall out of Stiles' mouth, but they are the truest words Stiles has ever spoken. He means them with all his heart.

"Okay," Derek whispers, maybe a touch of a smile on his face. 

Stiles takes one second to look at the warehouse, one second to listen to the fights, one second to know what he is doing is right, and then he is running. 

Derek and Stiles run away, as fast and as far as they can go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, eventually got there. I really debated whether or not to cut this chapter off after the explosion at about 2000 words, but then I thought that might be cruel. I know fanfictions that do that, and they absolutely destroy me, also I think 2000 was just a bit too small for this chapter. So, I hope this will satisfy your lust for Sterek. I am hoping to progress their relationship fully now that they are together. I hope you are all as excited as I am. Also, I would love to know what you think of my story so far. Do you like where it's going? Thank you for reading!


	7. When Trouble Follows

"Please, please I need to stop," Stiles begs, his legs turning into mush, chest seizing and heart rate hitting the stars. While Stiles may have been working out a lot more than usual (adding some much-needed muscle to his previously skinny physique), he still did not possess the strength to keep up a with a full-blown werewolf as they ran for their lives through the woods. Stiles is near collapse. Maybe not just from exhaustion, but an overload from the events of the last night. 

Derek slows down marginally, but it's obvious he's desperate to move on. _Relentless asshole,_ Stiles thinks. "Two minutes, but we need to keep going. It's not safe. My scent will be easy to track through these woods, as will yours."

"Shut up, not all of us have insane werewolf abilities. In case you haven't noticed, I'm still very much human, and need to rest from time to time," Stiles responds sarcastically, hunching over and clutching his screaming stomach. 

"If you weren't prepared to do this, then you should have stayed behind." The statement shocks Stiles. He pulls himself into standing position again, disbelievingly and furiously staring at Derek.

"Are you fucking serious right now? After everything I've done, you're going to tell me I've made a mistake? I gave up on the F.B.I., my dream, my friend who could be dead, Scott's dad, and I did it to help you, to save you! So, fuck you for even saying that to me!" Both Stiles and Derek are glaring hard at each other, ready to start shoving the other, in their typical fashion.

Derek takes thudding steps forward, seemingly unsettling the earth. "You don't get it! You just listed far too many reasons as to why you should have stayed behind, not to mention, I have multiple enemies chasing me right now, ready to destroy me at the slightest sign of weakness. So fuck you for coming. You've doomed us both."

The near presence of an angry, once-alpha werewolf should terrify Stiles, but it only infuriates him further. Stiles will not be intimidated by Derek or any other supernatural creature anymore. "No, screw you, you self-righteous bastard. You think I would throw myself into this situation without thinking? Ever since I found out about this, I have used every piece of my spare time to find you, and this is how you're going to repay me? I was saving you! But if you don't fucking care, then maybe I'll let Kate Argent use you as a fur coat. Fuck you, Derek Hale."

Stiles finds himself gripping Derek's ripped shirt between his clenched fingers, eager to begin shoving Derek into tree and seeing how far he can get before Derek decides to retaliate. 

But Derek doesn't continue the argument. Instead, he brings his hands up and places them over Stiles'. And like that, Stiles feels his anger dissipating, as if Derek's touch, unlike his face or voice, has a calming effect upon him, steadying his unstable emotions. 

"I meant what I said. You should have stayed behind, not because you're a liability, it's because you never seem to understand how much danger you put yourself in. And in this instance, I can't save you if something happens. There are too many, and she's with them. She...she distracts me, makes me lose control, and once I do, you'll be an easy target." Derek had been looking directly in Stiles' eyes, but each word leads him to direct his gaze towards the forest floor, not in shame, but because each sentence is the truth. 

Stiles hears his own sharp intake of breath at Derek's admission. To listen to Derek talk like this is miraculous, but to talk about Kate as well, just adds a new level of intimacy that Stiles has never known before, especially not with Derek. Stiles wonders if the poison has done something to the werewolf's brain chemistry. 

"Derek, you know how stubborn I am. There is nothing you can say that will make me turn back. You're stuck with me." Stiles smiles, moving his hands to rest on Derek's broad shoulders. "And, I can protect myself." Stiles taps the gun on his hip. 

Derek meets Stiles' eyes again, and the planet decides to stop spinning for a second, creating the illusion that the look they share lasts a millennium. Stiles knows Derek understands, he's not happy about it, but that part of the conversation is over. And if something does happen, Stiles will never blame Derek. He chose this, and he'll live with the consequences. 

Then Derek's ears are perking up, hearing a noise off in the distance, and silently orders Stiles to start running again. 

For once, Stiles does without question. 

***

They keep running, faster and harder than should be possible for a human body. Derek tries to accommodate for Stiles by slowing and resting at certain points, but the agitation in Derek's body language means Stiles only takes two minutes, trying to accommodate for Derek as well. Stiles wonders how long he'll last running like this. It won't be long considering that his limbs shake whenever he makes the slightest movement. 

They try to stick to the most shaded and hooded areas of the forest, even though that means that Stiles is more likely to trip every few minutes. Stiles is covered in bruises and scrapes, his clothes completely ruined with mud and blood. Not an attractive combination, but one which Stiles wears often when facing the supernatural.

Stiles knows this can't last forever. Kate has supernatural speed and senses, and she most definitely knows Derek's scent. It won't be long before they are caught, and Stiles knows they will have to fight. And while Stiles has grown relatively proficient with his gun, he is by no means an expert, and if Derek is right, and he'll be distracted by Kate's presence, he really is in more danger than he originally thought. 

It'll be fine. 

Of course it will.

At long last, they stop, just at the end of the forest, but still shaded by the long oak branches. Stiles' body is begging for death. 

He literally collapses on the forest floor, scrambling to gain control of his limbs without much luck. 

Immediately, Derek is by his side, placing a gentle hand on his back whilst he tries to gather enough air to even halfway fill his lungs. "Stiles, breathe. It's okay. We can stop for a while. You can't last much longer." 

Stiles wants to make an inappropriate remark about Derek's unintentional innuendo, but decides not to because that would require the oxygen he doesn't have. "No. Fine. Keep going. Too dangerous. To stop," Stiles manages to gasp out. 

Derek catches his eye, and the look he gives Stiles tells him he is an absolute idiot, and Derek is one second away from slapping him. Hard. 

"Stiles, if you continue, you will die. And I am not dealing with your father when he finds out I was responsible."

Stiles takes ten deep breaths. "Pfft, you big baby. I'm sure with your wolfie powers you'd be able to save yourself. Although, I did arm him with some wolfsbane bullets so do keep your eyes peeled," Stiles teases him. "And anyway, if you bribe my dad with a cheeseburger, he'll forgive you in an instant."

Derek rolls his eyes, but he looks like he is trying his best not to smile. 

"Oh, go on, sourwolf, let go of your sourness go for once. Smile, you know you want to," Stiles taunts him, resisting the urge to press his fingers to the werewolf's mouth and stretch his lips upwards, forming something akin to a smile. 

Derek looks at him, then turns away, making Stiles think he is smiling, but just won't allow him to see it. He walks away for a bit, letting Stiles rest against a tree, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. 

One: the mission failed.

Two: Kate is hunting them.

Three: Helena is missing.

Four: Stiles has no idea what he's doing (he gathers that neither does Derek).

Five: the pack knows nothing about where he is or his mission.

Six: Stiles and Derek are alone. Together. 

Seven: Stiles is afraid.

Derek walks back into Stiles' line of view, so he pulls his attention away from all the things that are wrong with this situation. "Hey, thought you were getting firewood or something? Being all lumberjack-like?" Stiles smiles a little, but it's not real. By sorting out his problems, it really sinks in the amount of trouble they are in. 

"Too risky to light a fire, I'll let you rest, then we'll move on. Find a town, a secure location, gather our resources and make a plan." Derek makes it sound simple, but it is anything but that. 

"You seem to have a lot of optimism about our odds. Weird."

Derek gives him a withering look and slides down next to him. The night air is gradually growing colder, so, without thinking about it, Stiles shuffles closer to Derek, trying to absorb the sheer amount of warmth the werewolf is projecting. 

There is an odd comfort in the presence of the werewolf. It eases Stiles' wrecked nerves, not by much, but enough. As the night grows even darker, the stars nothing but vague spots of light amongst a sea of blackness, the frigid winds pick up, causing Stiles to start shivering violently. 

Stiles burrows in on himself, quickly realising that he's still wearing the bullet proof vest and a short-sleeved t-shirt, not an outfit meant to keep the wearer warm.

Stiles can feel Derek's gaze on him, but he doesn't look up, he focuses on himself, curling up into a ball as tight as possible. He's going to become a human-popsicle at this rate. Some small part, some deep instinct, of him wishes this hadn't happened, wishes that he is back home, surrounded by his pack, warm and protected. But that wish is unrealistic and wrong, because Derek is pack, and this time, he needs the protection. 

Stiles jerks up when he feels heavy warmth settle around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Suddenly, the wind isn't so biting, and Stiles can begin to feel his fingertips again. Stiles is filled with heat. 

He raises an eyebrow at Derek as they relax against each other. Derek's jaw is set tight as he growls, "Mention this to anyone, and you know the consequences that will happen to your throat."

Stiles' slow smile is real this time, as he rests his head on Derek's shoulder. He can feel the tendrils of unconsciousness taking hold of his mind, so he murmurs some last words, "Dude, you need to come up with a new threat. You don't scare me anymore." 

Stiles doesn't hear Derek's reply as the last tendrils secures themselves and he falls asleep, wrapped up in the most unfriendly werewolf ever. Times really do change, huh?

Stiles dreams of chaos, of guns and fire and death. He dreams of Void returning. He dreams of Allison. He dreams of Donovan. He dreams of all the terrible things he's ever experienced. Finally, he is back at the nemeton, that massive tree stump howling into his mind, completely crushing his existence. It's too much. 

Stiles screams himself awake. Quickly, a hand is clamped over his mouth and Stiles knows it's Derek's. He focuses his eyes on the older man and sees a look on his face that he doesn't regularly see: panic. 

"Stiles, we have to move. They're coming. Get up. Get up!" Derek whisper yells. Stiles finds himself being dragged from position and forced to run, despite his protesting muscles. 

They are only running for a few minutes before the sound of bullets whizzing past infiltrates the air, knocking Stiles' heartrate to another dimension. 

"Shit, shit, shit," Stiles pants, half tripping over a fallen tree branch, but managing to catch himself at the last minute. If they weren't running for their lives, Stiles thinks that Derek would be rolling his eyes at Stiles' clumsiness, but instead he keeps a tight grip on Stiles' arm, bringing him up to Derek's speed. 

The forest ends, meaning that their cover is now gone and they're vulnerable. Fuck. Derek pushes him forwards on the dirt road, making him duck whenever he hears a bullet coming their way. Seconds later, their attackers are bursting through the forest, guns blazing. Stiles has yet to catch a glimpse of Kate, but he knows that she won't be far behind, but she loves the chase, so it's likely that's she's trying to prolong it as much as possible. 

A broken wooden structure is what Derek pushes Stiles behind, letting him breathe for the first time in what seems like an eternity. They can't keep doing this. Stiles won't survive. Derek looks over Stiles, seemingly realising that he is on the verge of death. Derek has never once looked sympathetic in all the time Stiles has known him, but he almost does here. That's what makes Stiles think something is deeply wrong with Derek. Maybe he's been kidnapped by aliens or possessed?

"Stay here. I'll be back." Derek moves out from behind the building, and while Stiles doesn't have the energy to turn around and look at the carnage, the audio picture that Derek provides is more than enough. The roars, the gunfire and the cries create a pretty clear image in his mind, and turn his stomach. Question: Will Stiles throw up when he sees the mess? Answer: Probably. 

A few minutes later, Derek returns, kneeling and holding Stiles' tired gaze. Derek has blood splattered all over him, confirming that Stiles will throw up once he moves out from behind this building. 

"Get all of them, butch?" Stiles mutters, trying very hard to stay awake.

"Shut up. We need to move. More are on their way," Derek growls, seizing Stiles and bringing up into standing position. It's only then as Derek grabs Stiles' arms, he realises that a bullet has grazed his skin and he is now bleeding freely. Stiles presses his fingers to the wound, just watching as the blood begins to stain his fingers. Derek sighs, resting his hand over Stiles', and taking his pain. This time, Stiles doesn't argue. He's tired and he's hurt and he's willing to accept help. The black veins traverse up Derek's arms and dissipate into his blood. Stiles does wonder how that feels, but he saves that question, and the millions of others he has, for a better time and location.

Derek forces Stiles to run for another few hours, but giving him time to rest for a bit. Actual rest. By the time that Derek decides it's safe enough to stop in a town for food and shelter, Stiles can barely remember his own name.

They stumble to a stop outside a cheap bed and breakfast before Stiles can even realise that he has no money. Crap. 

"Do you have any money? Unfortunately, cash isn't considered necessary on a secret mission for the F.B.I." Derek shoots him a harsh look, before pulling out some rolls of cash from his shoes. "Yuck, dude, now your money's gonna be covered in foot sweat and whatever other ghastly substances you've been rolling around in before I found you."

"Shut up, Stiles. Do you want to sleep in a bed tonight, or are you okay ruffing it in the woods? Because I am more than happy to leave your sorry ass there for some woodland creature to make their home out of," Derek snarls, evidently at the end of his tether with Stiles. 

Stiles holds up his hands in a placating gesture, but mutters as they walk through the door, "Sourwolf." 

The woman at the front desk is middle-aged and quite clearly bored to death of her job. Her blonde pixie cut falls into her eyes as she hands over the key to room 8, supposedly containing two single beds, a wardrobe, a desk and an ensuite bathroom. Very interesting. Not. Derek writes a fake name on the register, just in case Kate comes snooping, which is also why Derek decided to use cash instead of the credit card he has in the hidden pocket on the inside of his pants. Stiles smirks a little thinking about Derek stitching that little pocket, but wipes it off his face as Derek turns to him. 

"We'll stay here for the night, then we have to move on. Every minute we stay here, we risk being found and killed." Derek enters the room, that can only be described as dismal at best. The greying bed sheets and chipped furniture not really displaying a five-star vibe, but Stiles hadn't expected much from the outside demeanour and the receptionist's behaviour. 

"You know, for a moment, I really thought you'd changed and managed to grasp the concept of optimism, but that's just not in your repertoire Hale, is it?" Stiles sighs.

"Stiles, there are only so many times I can say shut up, before I use physical force." Derek shoves Stiles a little, jarring him but causing him no pain. Unlike the times where Derek has slammed Stiles' face into a steering wheel or his body into a wall. "Now go take a shower. You absolutely reek." 

Stiles snorts. "You don't exactly smell like a daisy either dude." But Stiles grabs one of the fraying towels and enters the decrepit bathroom. At least the water is warm. Stiles spends ages in the shower, watching as his blood turns the water a pale pink and pieces of dirt get stuck to the porcelain. The supernatural sucks. 

About forty-five minutes later, Stiles leaves the shower, wrapping the towel around his hips as he is not ready to put on those disgusting clothes just yet. When he quits the bathroom, steam clouds clinging to the air, the bedroom is empty. Stiles quickly checks all corners of the room but there is no sign of Derek, and while Stiles tells himself he shouldn't worry, he starts to panic. What happened? Did someone take Derek? Did Derek abandon him? 

Stiles is nearing complete hysteria when the door slams open, revealing Derek carrying a bundle of clothes in his arms. Evidently hearing Stiles' heartbeat, Derek's face carries a worried and puzzled expression, but before he can ask what's wrong, Stiles throws himself into Derek's not-so-waiting arms. Though, Derek does hug him back without hesitation. 

Once Stiles calms down a little, he acknowledges that he is being slightly ridiculous. Derek vanishes for a small amount of time, and it sends him completely out of his mind? Stiles curses himself violently. He loosens his grip on the werewolf, retreating quickly into the centre of the room. Derek stares at him, his eyebrow raised in question, maybe not just at Stiles' actions, but also his lack of dress. Stiles tightens the towel, but it does nothing to stop the flush filling his cheeks. God, he's an idiot. 

"You okay?" Derek asks as he dumps the clothes on one of the beds. 

Stiles can't find it within himself to answer, so he mutters something unintelligible, picking up some clothes and throwing himself into the bathroom. Stiles can't understand these thoughts. His mind now seems to revolve around the certain werewolf that is outside this bathroom door. Stiles thinks about Derek's eyes, the green stones protected by a flesh casing, the sharp line of jaw that Stiles aches to press his fingers to, the swell of his muscled arms that resist their cloth barriers. Stiles can only imagine what is contained below. Stiles groans softly, too many pleasurable images that send all his blood rushing to the lower half of his body. Stiles bangs his head against the door as he notices the half-hardness now peeking from beneath his towel. Could this day get any worse? He's going to go to hell for this. And frankly, sometimes Stiles believes he deserves to. Stiles thinks about dead puppies in order to will his erection away, and it sort of works. He shoves on his clothes, breathes, then opens the door. 

Derek tracks his movements as Stiles shuffles towards his chosen bed. Stiles guesses that Derek can probably smell his arousal with stupid werewolf abilities, but he hopes Derek has the decency to ignore it. Maybe he won't even care? Just dismiss Stiles as the hyperactive spaz he is, a dunce of a teenager that is controlled by his dick? That's all this is. He's a teenager that once had a crush on this admittedly attractive man and it's only flaring up because of their closeness. He loves Lydia. He's _in_ love with Lydia. It's Lydia. It's always been Lydia. Hasn't it? 

"Stiles, you can talk to me. I know we've never really been friends, but what you've done for me over these past few years definitely means something. What you did for me yesterday means something, so talk to me," Derek encourages him, but Stiles can't face him, won't tell him the truth if even he cannot understand it himself. 

"I'm fine Derek. Just overwhelmed by everything, I suppose." Stiles tries to smile, but it's false in its outcome and that's clear for anyone to see. "Now, go shower, you reek of something between wet dog and troll farts." 

"Always the charmer, Stilinski," Derek mutters, picking up the rest of the clothes and sauntering into the bathroom, as confident as ever. Dickhead. 

Stiles slaps his hands over his mouth and falls back onto the bed, wanting it to swallow him whole. He spends a few minutes groaning and wallowing in self-pity, before gathering himself and making the beginnings of a plan. Stiles thinks they could contact the pack for back-up, but it would take too long for them get here. He could contact the F.B.I., but they know nothing about the supernatural and Stiles won't be responsible for any of their deaths. Also, Stiles did escape with a runaway convict so he's not sure if he can rely on their support. 

So, it's up to Stiles and Derek. They need a way to beat Kate. She's the leader, if she falls then her band of followers should crumble. Stiles couldn't imagine any of them being particularly loyal to her for anything other than false promises or fear. What would break Kate? She's a supernatural creature now, something similar to a werewolf so she should be vulnerable to wolfsbane. There are many types of wolfsbane, so Stiles just needs to find the most potent form and maybe they'll have a chance of weakening her. Stiles has no method of researching at the present moment, so he'll wait until Derek gets out and talk to him about it. Now they still need to find a way to capture Kate in order to poison her. Which could mean allowing Kate to find them, using Derek or himself as bait to lure her into their trap. Oh, Derek is definitely not going to like that plan, but so far, it's the only one he's got, so we'll have to see. 

Just as Stiles has the beginning formation of their plan written on a notepad, he hears the door click and Derek walks out and plants himself directly next to Stiles, leaving barely enough space for breathing. Why is he making this so difficult? Stiles tracks the flow of a single water droplet as it drips from Derek's hair, down his cheek and splatters on his white t-shirt, exposing a faint spot of Derek's unblemished skin. Stiles hates this, he's acting like a lovesick schoolgirl. _Just stop it!_ Stiles orders himself. 

Stiles coughs and inches backwards from Derek. A strange expression washes over Derek's face, but it vanishes as soon as it appears. An uncomfortable air settles between the two of them, so Stiles scuffles back even further, his body hitting the headboard. He begins ranting because that's all Stiles seems to be able to do in awkward situations, "Okay, so I have the beginnings of a plan, well, when a I say plan, I mean more like an idea, not a good idea, because when do I ever come up with a good idea especially when it comes to the supernatural? And the supernatural is always terrible. Don't you agree? I definitely think you should agree, I mean I know your past and you know mine, so the supernatural really sucks, like completely, utterly, totally - " 

Stiles is cut off by Derek covering Stiles' mouth with his furry paw. "Jesus Stiles, will you shut the hell up? I'm half tempted to snap a muzzle on you. Just tell me your plan and we discuss it like _normal_ people."

"Dude, when the full moon rises, you grow bushy sideburns and claws, I think normal is a faraway concept when you apply it to our situation," Stiles retorts, but Derek growls fiercely and Stiles submits, telling Derek his very basic form of a plan. 

When Stiles gets to the part about playing bait, Derek's stern expression turns ferocious and he quickly explodes, "No! Not a chance in hell will I let you or myself be bait for that bitch. Do you know how many things could go wrong?" 

By this time, Derek is standing up, his words flying out with sharpness, which only insights anger within Stiles as well. "What else do you know suggest we do! We have no allies, no resources, we're fucked! We find this wolfsbane, poison Kate and capture her. Lock her away once and for all. I don't see you coming up with a better plan."

"And what should we do once we capture her? Just keep her chained and drugged up in a crappy motel somewhere along the beaten track?" Derek yells back. 

"No! We need to take her back to Beacon Hills, to Eichen House, they can contain supernatural creatures. We just need to make it back there," Stiles tries to explain reasonably, but he is still shouting, which never makes an argument seem reasonable. 

Derek groans audibly, mentally exhausted with Stiles. As per usual. "You're impossible to argue with, you know that?" 

"Yep, and now you sound exactly like my dad," Stiles agrees, a cautious smile spreading across his face. Derek says something under his breath, but Stiles can't catch it with his human hearing. "Does this mean, you're willing to at least consider my plan?"

Derek grumbles, and it looks like it costs him a lot to nod. 

"Good, we just need to research the wolfsbane and find a place that we can easily lure Kate into." The phrase _easier said than done_ hangs unsaid in the air.

Derek looks physically pained at his next admission, "We don't have to. I know where we can go." 

Stiles looks up from where he has been scribbling in his notebook. "What do you mean?"

"St Louis is about an hour's drive away - " Stiles doesn't mention that do not possess a car right now " - and there's a pack there that my mother knew, they should have what we need."

"Okay, and about choosing a location so we can set a trap?" Stiles asks, resisting the urge to start biting the end of the pen. 

"The pack will know where we can go, and will have methods that will lure Kate there. Like Argent's emitters." Derek's expression is getting more and more twisted as this conversation continues. 

"You seem to be placing a lot of trust in this pack. How do you know they won't just turn us in or kill us?" Stiles questions him. 

"Because I've met them before. They took us in for a time, after the fire," Derek grits out, and Stiles knows not to press any further, lest he wants to be ripped to shreds. 

"Okay, then we'll go to them. You're sure they'll still be there, and you know where they are?" Derek nods sharply. "Alright then, I'll put my faith in you. Keep it safe mister. I do not hand that shit out easily," Stiles warns Derek, waggling his pointer finger at the werewolf's face. Stiles quickly steals it back to prevent it from being eaten off. 

"Go to bed, Stiles, you need to rest. We both do." With that, Derek spins on his heel and somehow opens the room door with a loud bang, not even a backwards glance. Stiles doesn't have the wherewithal to follow him. Whilst waiting for him, Stiles turns down his bed, and slips under the sheets. They're stiff and cold, but after sleeping in the woods, it's practically luxury. 

When Derek returns, he tosses a bag of chips and a few chocolate bars his way. Stiles grins at Derek, ready to start falling to his knees in gratitude. But that train of thought leads to thoughts of other activities that include him on his knees, so he tries not to focus on it. Stiles nearly moans as he gets his mouth around the chocolate. Food has never tasted so good before. 

"Man, if I thought you wouldn't kill me for it, I would tell you I love you right now." Stiles grins at Derek as he settles in his own bed across from him. Derek looks at him, and once again, Stiles can't understand the look he's expressing. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, it just makes things difficult for Stiles. When Stiles looks at Derek, all he feels is confusion, confusion because he knows he's finally understanding his feelings. He doesn't want to, but he is, and he knows he is absolutely screwed. 

Once the food is finished, every injury Stiles has suffered over the last couple of days exhausts him. He falls onto his pillow, watching as Derek does nothing to make himself comfortable, his hyper-vigilant stance at the ready. 

"Aren't you going to sleep?" Stiles yawns, his eyelids growing heavier by the minute. 

"Someone needs to keep a look-out. I'll be fine," replies Derek, but Stiles isn't convinced, even supernaturals needs rest. 

"Derek, go to sleep. You'll be no use to us if you can't even see from tiredness," Stiles tells him. 

"Just go to sleep Stiles. Your voice is grating on my soul now." Derek's expression would send an axe murderer running, but Stiles is as crazy as they come, and feels even more relaxed than before. There are two very different sides to Derek, and when it comes to Stiles, Derek just can't seem to decide which one to choose. 

"You need to stop pretending you don't care. You already proved you do," Stiles whispers as he begins to fall asleep. 

"I know, that's the problem," Derek whispers back. 

Stiles is asleep before he can think of a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a bit later than my usual updates, but I've been doing some travelling recently and Christmas took up most of my time. I still haven't figured out an updating schedule, so for this story I might just stick to updating whenever I want to. I hope you all had a great Christmas and New Year!


	8. Just Human

Despite being a criminal wanted for mass murder, Derek decides that stealing a car is in their best interest. It's almost like he wants to be arrested. 

At the break of dawn, they had packed their stuff and deserted the hotel, or whatever the place can really be called. Then Derek leads him down multiple dark alleyways, making Stiles believe he might be taking him there to get rid of him once and for all. Stiles thinks that action might not be unjustified, as he spends the entire search regaling Derek with Star Wars trivia facts. 

"Did you know that in _A New Hope,_ during some of the millennium falcon chase scenes real potatoes were used to look like meteorites? Or that the pod that C-3PO and R2-D2 use to escape in was created from two paint buckets? And - " 

"One more word about Star Wars, about them using ice-cube trays to create the sound of 3PO moving, I am going to reach down your throat and tear out your intestines," Derek threatens, shoving him down yet another alley. 

Honestly, Stiles could talk about Star Wars all day, all year, but he likes the idea of keeping his internal organs internal. So, instead, as Derek lays his eyes upon a crappy car parked outside the side entrance of a rundown grocery store, he just mutters, "Who knew as you were squirming your way up your mother's fallopian tubes, you would turn out to be such an asshole?" 

Derek looks at him sharply, but there's no real venom behind it. Not like there used to be. "Sometimes, I do think you have a death wish, Stiles," sighs Derek, as he tests the lock on the door of the driver's side. He wrenches it open with ease, and in such a way that Stiles knows without a shadow of a doubt, that this is not the first time Derek has done something of this nature. Bet he misses his Camaro now. This just makes Stiles think about all the unanswered questions he has spinning in his mind. Where's Braeden? What has he been doing these past years? How did Kate find him? Why is she doing this? And most of all, why did Derek call Stiles? Why him? Why now?

Stiles decides that Derek doesn't look like he's open to a heart-to-heart at the moment (not that the guy ever looks like a person that has heart-to-heart moments - like seriously, a smile costs nothing dude), so he circles back and continues the original conversation, "Oh, I definitely have a death wish. You think I'd hang out with a bunch of werewolves and banshees and hunters, if I didn't like the adrenaline kick I get from it? That shit is better than drugs," Stiles jokes, an uncontainable grin spreading across his mole-spotted face. 

Stiles thinks that Derek is growing tired of having to growl at him every few seconds, so this time, as he fiddles with the wiring underneath the wheel, he doesn't even deign to look at him. Stiles carefully watches as Derek crosses certain wires and eventually, a small spark ignites, and the roaring of an engine come to life fills the air. Certainly looks like a skill that could come in handy. Stiles makes a mental note to ask Derek to give him a lesson in stealing cars. Ah, his dad would be proud. Not. 

There is a small crash from inside the store, and Stiles knows it's now or never. He hops in the passenger seat without preamble, barely managing to fasten his seatbelt before Derek is speeding off down the road. Stiles glances back, witnessing a middle-aged man run out in nothing more than his boxers, yelling as a werewolf and a spastic teenager steal his car. Stiles snorts a little, because while he is committing a felony, that is one of the funniest sights he's seen in a while. 

"You're dangerous," Stiles tells Derek, with a smile like the Cheshire Cat's. The way he phrases the words makes them sound like a compliment, which is why Stiles believes Derek gives a feral grin in reply.

"So are you," Derek assures him. It's one of those rare moments when Derek's face seems unburdened by his past. No furrowing brow, no clenched jaw, no harsh, unyielding glare, just him. Just Derek. Just human. 

And, it's wonderful.

Stiles gets caught in a daze, revelling in the pleasure of Derek's ephemeral happiness. The awful realisation is that, Stiles cannot particularly remember anytime that he has seen Derek truly happy. He never seemed like that type of person, but that was the opinion of an immature wannabe-detective teenager that knew no such word as boundaries, (he still doesn't really, but what can you do?) and never really considered that the sourwolf might have more feelings than anger and sourness. 

Stiles never realised, knew, understood.

He does now.

Derek tells him that the alpha of this pack should be able to cover their scents, at least for a while. Derek didn't want to go to them for fear of endangering them but with Stiles here he feels he has no option but to protect this annoying human being. 

Stiles falls asleep during the drive, the gentle hum of the tires against the concrete lulling him into unconsciousness. Thankfully, the dream is blank, just thoughts swimming through an empty expanse, atmosphere thicker than blood. 

Stiles awakes as Derek is pulling into the driveway of an old-fashioned farmhouse situated in a forested area somewhere in St Louis. All werewolves are the same, Stiles concludes. They all need a big green area to roll around in, let their wolf hair down, so to speak. Stiles wonders if he will ever run out a dog jokes. Not likely. 

Immediately, Stiles sees a group of about ten werewolves pile out the house. A quick headcount shows about four adult weres, four around teen ages, and two little ones. A sound, a combination of yipping and squealing, is produced and before Stiles knows it, there are multiple werewolves surrounding the car, yanking Derek and him out.

Stiles lets out a startled noise as he is forced to form the bottom layer of an impromptu puppy pile. Multiple little fingers are scrambling at his clothes, soft skin nuzzling against his own, and Stiles can't help but start giggling at the feeling. For a split second, Stiles feels content, like he's home, like he doesn't have to worry. 

From somewhere above, a voice demands, "Kids! Get off the poor boy before you smother him!" 

The kids bounce off him, one even placing a sloppy kiss on his cheek before running and joining the others. A hand reaches out to help him up, and Stiles glances up to see Derek standing there, a slight flush to his cheeks, obviously from his own cuddle puddle. Stiles thinks he looks beautiful. He shouldn't. But he does. 

Stiles laughs a little in disbelief, "Well, that was fun." Derek replies with a small smile, turning quickly as the adult weres step forward to greet the two of them. 

An older woman, early fifties with streaks of ocean grey slipping through her dark hair, moves forward with purpose, wrapping her arms around Derek and squeezing tightly. "It's so good to see you again. I wish you'd come back sooner." She places a kind and wrinkled hand on his cheek and holds his gaze for a moment. 

"A lot has happened," Derek says, maybe slightly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He looks to Stiles, who gives him an encouraging smile. "It's been hard." 

The woman nods in understanding, before swivelling her head and extending a hand to Stiles. "Hi there. I'm Vanessa, but Ness or Nessie is fine. I'm the alpha of this pack. Welcome to our territory." 

Stiles, somewhat dumbfounded, stares, trying to figure out what to say. _My name is Stiles Stilinski, resident annoyance creator and former F.B.I. intern before the mission went sour by a bitchy were-jaguar blowing up the area because of her love of high-powered weaponry and grudge against the Hale pack?_ Really doesn't have the same ring as 'alpha'. So, he keeps it simple: "Hi, I'm Stiles. Nice to meet you, and thanks for letting us stay."

"Absolutely no problem. Anything for little Der-bear," - this time, Stiles can definitely tell that Derek is blushing, and the fact that Stiles loves seeing Derek look so vulnerable is one that he has only recently discovered - "and his partner, of course." 

Before Stiles can ask what exactly she means by 'partner', Derek coughs and quickly shoves Stiles towards the house, muttering, "Okay, that's enough. Let's go in now."

The other adults introduce themselves as Nessie leads them around the house, pointing out the different rooms, including Derek's and his. Just the one bed. Stiles tries not to react. The two males are called Oliver and Mason, the female called Emilia. Apart from Helena's pack, a majority of the packs that Stiles has been introduced to are either evil or just civil, nothing more, never once reacting as this pack did to his presence. Especially with the pups. Stiles still can't understand their behaviour. 

Half an hour later, they are sitting around a rounded table, a huge spread of food sitting idly and enticingly. Stiles devours everything on his plate, almost choking but not caring at all. Derek just looks at him, maybe Stiles is hoping by thinking that it could be with fondness. 

The rest of the pack trickle in, each kid shoving each other trying to choose the best seat, more than a few of them wanting to sit next to Stiles. For whatever reason. 

"No, I get to sit here," growls one of the boys, about ten years old, grabbing whom Stiles thinks is his sister and plonking her on the floor. Stiles nearly laughs at the outraged cry she emits. She jumps up and tackles the boy to the ground, properly fighting for the seat next to him. It's flattering, in a sense.

Mason swiftly intervenes, tearing the two apart and placing them on opposite sides of the table. "Tristan, you know better. And Kathy, we have guests, we do not act that way. Now, behave." 

Both mumble something along the lines of "Sorry, dad," but stick their tongues at each other the second he turns his back. 

Stiles shakes his head, but his smile is unflinching, as is Derek's when they catch each other's eyes. Stiles shuffles a little closer to him, bumping his shoulder, which Derek reciprocates. The close proximity leaves Stiles' stomach fluttering. His butterflies have butterflies. 

Nessie sits at the head of the table, beginning to captivate Derek and Stiles with tales of the pack's adventures since the time Derek left. He wonders if Derek regrets leaving these people. If he hadn't, it's possible that anything could have happened. Laura could be safe. Happy. Stiles tries not to dwell on those thoughts because they are laden with guilt and painful memories. 

Stiles happily chats about his own pack, exchanging stories that make even Derek laugh, even when he makes an appearance in them. It feels good, to skip over the bad, not forever, but just keep the good in mind so Stiles can feel weightless. Fleetingly. 

Kathy ends up throwing a bread roll at Tristan halfway through lunch. It takes a breath before the spark is lit. Everyone stands and a food fight breaks out. Stiles pours his soup over Derek's head, both him and Derek shocked by the act, but grinning all the same. Derek grabs Stiles and forces a mound of butter in his face. They keep smiling. Like it's all they can do. It's all they want to do. 

By the time the food is all over the floor, table, wall and everyone, Nessie decides they should clean up, ordering the kids to wash and the adults to fix the mess in the dining room. The kids trot out, more than pleased with themselves, some even trying to lick the mess off each other.

Nessie looks between Stiles and Derek, sighs, then says, "Sorry about that. Doesn't usually happen, but I think they were excited to have guests." 

"I loved it. Kinda felt like an initiation ritual. But don't tell me I've just joined a cult. My dad would never forgive me if I got a tattoo," Stiles warns them. Derek shakes his head, used to Stiles' banter, but still embarrassed by it nonetheless. 

"No cults I'm afraid. Not the kind of image we're going for," laughs Nessie. "Now, don't you two worry about anything. We're very happy to have you here and we are aware of the risks that it could bring. But Talia would never forgive me if I let something happen to her baby boy."

Derek groans a little at the sentiment then speedily excuses the two of them, but not before Nessie holds him back for a few minutes, probably exchanging wolfie contacts, then ineffectually whispers, "You've got a good one." Stiles feels the heat rise in his cheeks, worried and thrilled by the connotations behind the statement. Stiles side-eyes Derek as they walk up the staircase, noticing the flush to his face as well. Maybe he's just warm or it's food residue? 

Derek claims the adjoining bathroom first, snatching a towel and spare clothes from the bed. As the shower turns on, Stiles flops on the bed, letting his exhaustion overcome him. Under the layers of tomato sauce and meat cutlets, Stiles can still spot the bruises on his arms, hating that he knows there are multiple more under his shirt and pants. That's not how Stiles likes to be marked up. 

His mind wanders back to the warehouse, seeing Agent Russell bleed out (Stiles doesn't even know if he's okay), the gunshots that sliced him and the man that could have taken his life. What would his dad have done? How would he have reacted to Stiles' death? It doesn't even bear thinking about. Stiles always throws himself into these situations, but never really thinks about how it will affect everyone else. He groans in exasperation. He has no idea what he's supposed to do. He wishes he knew if Helena was okay. His first real friend away from home. What if his last memory of her is breaking their promise? If Stiles had the energy, he would be tempted to cry. 

Stiles doesn't know what to do.

"Stiles?" A voice asks. 

He turns his head and finds Derek staring at him with concern. Stiles sits up quickly, wiping at his eyes, actually finding some wetness there. He picks up what's left on the bed and stumbles towards the bathroom, eyes trained on the ground, as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. 

Derek reaches out and keeps a gentle, but firm hold on his arm. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I'm fine," Stiles mumbles, trying to pull his arm free. No use. 

"Stiles, tell me. Please." If Stiles wasn't so sure that it was impossible, he could believe that Derek was pleading. Begging Stiles of all people. Impossible. 

"I'm fine," Stiles repeats, managing to take his arm back, slamming the bathroom door behind him. 

Breathe deeply. Breathe heavily. Breathe slowly. 

Stiles rips his clothes off and steps under the spray, but the warm water does nothing to heat up the chill taking root inside him. The water streams over his face, splashing violently as it hits the porcelain. Stiles tells himself that it's just water from the shower, not his tears that add to the flow. 

Stiles places a heavy hand over one of his bruises, just above the heart, reassuring himself that there is still a beating underneath his fingertips. 

Derek is waiting for him when he leaves the bathroom, sitting with his back resting against the side of the bed. 

"Sit," he kind of orders, kind of because it's done without any real malice. He nods his head at the spot next to him, giving Stiles no option on choice of seating. 

He does as he's told, sliding down and as soon as he's settled, Derek wraps his arms around the younger man. "You know you don't have to keep it all together, right? You can let go. At least for a little while."

Stiles taps his fingers against his knees to an uneven beat. "You sound like a crappy health and wellness brochure." The joke doesn't amuse Derek, or even himself. "Okay, maybe I'm not fine, not always. Sometimes, this life, it's just overwhelming. I think about everything that's happened the past few days, and that should break a normal person, so why am I still here?" 

"Because you're not normal, not in the slightest, you've said so yourself. Which means you can handle this, and whatever comes our way. But take a second every now and then. You're only human." A little smile graces Derek's lips. Stiles barely recognises him. This isn't the Derek that Stiles knows. 

"Who are you?" Stiles whispers, letting his eyes drop to Derek's mouth, speculating about how easy it would be to close the gap, fill the space, end the distance. Feel those velvet lips upon his, them parting, allowing access to all sorts. He wonders and he thinks and he concedes. Either Stiles is crazy or blind, because he promises on his life, that he sees Derek's gaze dropping to his own mouth as well. They sit there, in the softest of silences, not an air particle daring to move, and Stiles' body reacts, mind switched off, leaning in until they share the same breath. 

There is the lightest of touches before the door is flung open and a steady stream of young werewolves crowd the room. Derek and Stiles spring apart, both realising what was about to happen, and both are entirely shocked and mildly horrified by it. Shit. Stiles is in deep shit. 

"Come on you two. We're going for a run. Let's go!" Little fingers grapple for purchase on their clothes, dragging them to their unsteady feet. Derek and Stiles exchange a look, but neither of them can decipher what it means. 

Ten minutes later, they are surrounded by the rest of the pack, all gearing up for their run at sundown. Stiles doesn't understand how he's going to keep up with the wolves, even the little supernaturals will kick his ass at running. Oh well, Stiles can just tap into his dawdling abilities, as usual.

Derek doesn't look at him. As soon as everyone is ready, he sprints away, leaving nothing but the smoke outline of his body as a reminder of his existence. The others all follow in pursuit, but little Samuel and fifteen-year-old Jane, stick behind, making conversation with him. Jane complains about her homework and that she doesn't have a date for her winter formal, while Stiles gives Sammy a piggy back ride. Stiles tries not to think about his own winter formal, because it reminds him of Lydia and with everything that could have just happened, Stiles truly understands the consequences of his nearly action. Stiles isn't that person, most definitely doesn't want to be that person. It's wrong. It's so wrong. Then why does he feel such regret that it didn't happen? He replays it in his mind over and over again, the mindless babble of Jane not even entering his ear, just that almost moment. Almost. 

Jane decides to stretch her legs and goes running off for a little while, but circles back once she gets bored. Sammy tries to follow her, tripping a little over some fallen branches but scrambling back up without a pause. He convinces Stiles to play tag with him, so for an hour or so Stiles runs about the woods looking for a little wolf. Stiles loses sight of him for a while, but it's only a few minutes later that Sam is jumping out behind a tree, scaring the living Jesus out of Stiles, and of course, at that moment, he's standing on a loose patch of earth, so he slips and manages to get dirt all up and down his back. Great. 

Stiles heads back to the house, Jane and Sammy scampering behind him. Just as the house comes into view, Jane says, "You and Derek are really cute together by the way."

Stiles chokes on his own breath. "W-What? We're not, we haven't, I've never..."

"What are you talking about? I can smell the two of you, and I see the way you look at each other," she says matter-of-factly. 

"What do you mean smell?!" Stiles demands in outrage. 

"I don't know. It's hard to put in human terms. I guess, you smell right. You smell good when you're together." Jane shrugs, then dances up the stairs to her bedroom. 

Stiles looks down at little Sammy who just giggles and lifts his arms up, asking to be carried. Stiles picks him up, and chuckles as he rubs his small face in the crook of his neck. It's weird and comforting that the pack already seems to treat him like family. Maybe it's something to do with 'smelling right'. Whatever that means. Him and Sam settle in the den, flicking through the TV channels until they are both satisfied. The latest Star Wars. _The kid has taste,_ Stiles thinks. 

The movie is nearing its end when the rest of the pack return. Sammy is already fast asleep. His mom smiles at Stiles as she plucks him from his arms, waking him up so he can eat something before really falling asleep. The pack all gather together at the dining room table again, but this time Derek stays on the opposite side, staying as far away from Stiles as possible. Stiles would be lying if he said it didn't sting. The pack seem more relaxed than ever, trading jokes with each other and smiling, the run really bringing their bond to the forefront. 

The moon is in full bloom when the pack decide to call it a night, all retreating to their bedrooms. Sammy gives him one last hug, squeezing his little arms around Stiles' legs. Stiles can feel Derek watching him as he ruffles Sammy's golden crown, but he doesn't look back. Stiles can't decide if he's angry, hurt or relieved at Derek's behaviour. They walk side by side up the staircase, Derek doing everything he can to prevent their limbs from brushing. He might as well hug the wall. 

They get changed in silence. Stiles takes the left side of the bed and Derek takes the right, leaving more than just an air barrier between them. Stiles really thought that things were getting better between him and Derek, but he guesses that is just a fantasy. When it comes to Derek, it is probably for the best that they remain distant acquaintances, only brought together when Scott calls on them.

Stiles lies in the darkness, blinking as the blanket of blackness smothers him. The steady click of the clock starts to drive Stiles insane, so he gets up with the plan of drinking some water, hoping to calm himself or maybe begin the process of drowning. 

Stiles sits at the small table that sits off to one side in the gigantic kitchen, taking careful sips of ice water. He wants to call his dad. He hasn't spoken to him since the night he left the F.B.I. headquarters, not wanting to risk anything being traced, which is ridiculous because Kate can find them on scent alone. Stiles doesn't have a concrete plan on how to capture her. Most likely it would mean directly contacting the bitch and arranging a place to meet, but it would have to be under false pretences and what those pretences would be, Stiles has no idea. Maybe to negotiate some kind of truce? Would Kate be naïve enough to believe such a thing? Maybe if it came from him, not Derek. Stiles also knows they can't stay here much longer. Kate and her men can't be too far away, and Stiles will not endanger this family. So, overall, Stiles' best option at protecting this pack, Derek and anyone Kate may hurt in the future, is to lure her far away and keep her far away. 

Listening skills are of valued importance when they are applied to Stiles' situation, yet he still hasn't mastered the concept, so when he hears a cough from behind, Stiles can't help but make a very undignified squawk of fear. 

Whirling round and coming face-to-face with Derek Hale, he whisper-yells, "What the hell, dude! Are you trying to give me a heart attack? A guy can only withstand so much shock within one lifetime. Jesus." 

Derek rolls his eyes, picking up a glass and pouring himself some water as well. They kind of awkwardly shuffle around each other for a while, not knowing whether to abandon ship or sit. 

Stiles steels himself, and asks, "Are we going to talk about what happened this afternoon?" He places his glass on the countertop, letting his finger trace the edge. An incongruous calm. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Derek asks, somehow turning the question on Stiles. Stiles can actually see the gun facing him. Will Derek pull the trigger?

"I don't know. Yeah, maybe? But I guess you don't because you've been ignoring me for the past few hours. And I'm worried that once we do talk about it, it could mean something, and I don't know if I'm ready for that, for this. I have a girlfriend. I love Lydia. And I'm sure you already have someone. I know you haven't mentioned anything, but it's not like there's been lots of time for chatting. You still with Braeden? She seemed like a cool chic. If you like that whole biker-gang, I-could-use-you-as-a-toothpick kind of girl, which I suppose you do. That's like you in a nutshell. She's perfect, right? Ah, girls are great, just so - "

The words that always so easily tumble out, are lost as he feels a pressure upon his mouth. It takes a second to realise that it's Derek lips. It's Derek's lips on his. Kissing him. Kissing Stiles. Derek kissing Stiles. It's as momentary as sand falling through an hourglass, but the gentle, yet insistent demand of Derek's lips could fool Stiles into thinking it lasts centuries. 

Derek sharply pulls himself backwards, eyes analysing Stiles up and down, waiting for his response. The uncertain slope of his mouth implying that he believes he's headed towards a rejection. He should be. He should be rejected. Fiercely. 

But Stiles can't. Won't. Never will. 

Derek tries to say something, maybe an apology, but Stiles launches forward and slams his lips onto Derek's. The burst of pain he feels, is immediately overcome with the pleasure of Derek kissing him back. The wild slide of their lips against each other's sets something ablaze within Stiles, a fire that races up and down his spine until he's burned with fever. Stiles latches onto Derek's lower lip, suckling and nibbling, begging for entrance, to which Derek gladly grants, forcing their tongues to perform a wet dance inside their mouths. The sensation is unlike anything Stiles has ever experienced, drawing a moan from deep within him. This leads Derek to thread his fingers through Stiles' ebony hair and pull their hips flush together. 

He desperately walks Stiles backwards until he hits the countertop with a resounding thump. He unashamedly grazes his hands over Stiles' ass, until they're resting on his thighs and securing themselves to lift Stiles to perch on the marble.

With the insistent towing of his tongue, it seems as if Derek is genuinely searching for something inside Stiles' mouth. Except, he only succeeds in tugging more moans from Stiles until he feels like they are the only sounds he makes. They break apart with a wet snap, but it's only because they remember that they need to breathe. And as soon as Derek takes in air, he's latching his mouth onto Stiles' neck, sucking a prominent bruise into existence. Stiles' fingers grip the edge of the counter, trying to free some of the tension in his over-stretched mind and body, and not groan every five seconds when Derek finds new and interesting ways to use his mouth. 

Stiles is finally letting his hands wander all over Derek's chest, mountains of muscle forcing his hands rise and fall, when a cough startles them out of their lustful stupor. 

Both Stiles' and Derek's head dart up, swivelling to find Jane standing there, hands gripping her hips. "God, you guys are disgusting. You do know that you have your own bedroom to act like depraved apes, right? I will never touch another countertop again." She shudders, not bothering to venture further into the room and forgetting whatever she came here for. 

Stiles giggles a little. "Not six hours ago, she was complaining about her own lack of sexual experience to me, but witnessing ours grosses her out? I'm sensing some irony there." 

Derek doesn't answer, and its only then Stiles notices that Derek's hands are still resting on his hips, fingertips moving in circular motions, as if to keep Stiles hooked in place. Stiles loves the feeling. He shouldn't, but he does. Derek is everything he shouldn't want, but an inexplicable thread always seems to connect the two of them. 

Stiles and Derek eventually make eye contact, doubts and fear taking flashing behind their pupils. Stiles asks the inevitable question: "What are we going to do?"

When Derek smiles, Stiles knows it's meant as a reassurance. He tries to hold onto that as Derek speaks, "I don't know." He pauses. "But we'll figure it out, okay? You and me."

Stiles' heart swells, and he repeats, "You and me." 

Stiles finds that today's events are really beginning to wear on him as his energy suddenly dip. Derek catches this, his eyes drooping as well, so he plucks Stiles off the counter, as if he weighs no more than a feather, and leads him upstairs and into the bed. 

Derek doesn't hesitate to place an arm around Stiles and pull him closer until he's practically laying on the wolf's chest. Stiles feels safer than he has done in a long time. He reaches out and links their fingers, Derek's hand engulfing his. He rubs Stiles' thumb between his own thumb and index finger. He shifts his head, and burrows his face into the space in Derek's collarbone. Whatever this is between the two of them, it does not seem to be false, and for Stiles, it isn't temporary. It's like an awakening, a revelation of sorts, as Stiles now knows how much he's wanted this, how long he's waited for this. With no one else but Derek. He never imagined he would get this chance once he'd left, but he's here now and Stiles wants him. 

Oh God, Stiles loves Derek. He's in love with Derek. 

He's screwed because, whilst in this position it seems like Derek could feel the same, after all, what is there for Derek to love about Stiles? An overzealous personality and a mouth that can never be controlled? How could someone choose that, choose him? It's wrong. 

Derek must sense the increased tension in Stiles' limbs, so he runs his hands through Stiles' hair in an effort to comfort him. "Hey, by the way, Braeden and I broke up a few months after Mexico. We both knew it was never going to work," Derek whispers, his voice encompassed in heavy darkness, as sweet and thick as treacle. 

"What about Kate? How did she find you?" Stiles asks, his body at the point of complete relaxation, despite the subject matter.

"After Braeden left, I decided to visit Cora for a while, check up on her. She seems happy. The pack in South America really care about her, but I felt like an interloper. The pack was hers, not mine, but I couldn't go back to Beacon Hills, so I thought I'd make a new start in Mexico. I figured out a deal with the Calaveras and stayed in a town called Ajijic. And for a while, I was normal, I guess. I worked in a garage, had an apartment and there was no mention of anything out of the ordinary. Then one day, the Calaveras asked for a favour. They needed a wolf to help contain a prisoner, and that was Kate. They had caught her trying to cross the border back into America and were getting ready to transport her to their facility in southern Mexico. They should have killed her while they had the chance, but they didn't. Don't know why. Maybe Argent wanted to be there. But, in return, they would give me supplies I couldn't easily get my hands on, like certain types of wolfsbane. The day of the transfer it turns out that Kate wasn't alone. In her time away, she had gathered people and creatures, so we were attacked and almost killed. There were too many of them, so I ran, but Kate kept finding me, even after I left Mexico. Every location I thought was secure was compromised in some way."

Stiles' eyes had slowly fallen shut, but that didn't mean he wasn't listening. He is blown away by Derek's honesty and willingness to speak so freely. Stiles thinks he's never heard Derek talk so much in his life. He contemplates asking about Derek's phone call to him, but decides to wait until later. It's not that important. 

"Thanks for telling me," Stiles says, squeezing Derek's hand. 

"You needed to know."

Derek falls asleep not a few minutes later, abandoning Stiles for the dream world. Stiles can only imagine what Derek dreams about. Good things, he hopes. Maybe Derek is happier there. He should be happy. He should have that chance, instead of it being taken away at every turn. Derek tried to start again in Mexico, in New York, even in Beacon Hills, but nothing worked. Stiles won't let that happen again. And he won't let anything happen to this pack either, one of Derek's last reminders of his family. He wants to save him. 

Stiles knows what he has to do, and Derek will not be happy about it. He lets himself rest for a couple of hours, then gets up and gathers some meagre supplies, including some of Derek's ruined clothes. Once he's ready, the first hints of golden sunlight peeking through the curtains, he bends back over the bed and kisses Derek's parted lips. He stirs a little, but otherwise shows no reaction. Stiles lets the tips of his fingers brush along his cheekbone, trying to memorise the feeling of smooth skin. Stiles had written a note, telling him how sorry he is, and if something happens that it's not his fault and asking him to take care of his dad, Scott and the rest of the pack. 

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. 

Stiles moves away, carefully padding down the staircase and through the door, to the stolen car that is still parked in the driveway. 

He shifts it into drive, tying the clothing out the window once he's far enough away, and making sure Derek's scent is easy to find. He continues to drive without any real aim, until deciding to go back to the original scene of the crime, because it's an area he knows, and could provide the supplies he needs. 

Stiles drives, but all he can think about is Derek. What will he do once he wakes up? Will he realise that Stiles was trying to save him? Will he leave him to it? 

He just thinks, _I'm sorry, Derek. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sterek kiss! Yay! I hope the kiss lived up to your standards and was realistic. But this is definitely the calm before the storm. I do apologise in advance because I know what I'm going to do in the next chapter. By the way, I was thinking about including some moments from Derek's perspective, just so everyone can see the difference, but I was thinking that would be an add-on chapter once I've finished this story. Would you guys want that? But, don't worry those who like Stiles' POV, he will be the only narrator for the rest of the time. Thank you all for reading! You guys are awesome! <3


	9. Eternal Wounds

There are a thousand different possibilities in the world. 

If Stiles hadn't managed to convince Scott to go out that night, maybe he would never have been turned. Maybe if he hadn't been bitten, he never would have spoken to Allison on her first day, would have just submitted to admiring her from afar. Stiles and Scott would have taken a backseat to the supernatural, only witnessing strange events they had no explanation for, just like everyone else in Beacon Hills. They never would have met Derek. Lydia would still be an unattainable ice-queen. Maybe Allison would be alive. Maybe Erica and Boyd too. But maybe Isaac would still be trapped with his father, maybe all the supernatural caused deaths would still continue without anyone to stop them, maybe Kate would never be held responsible for her actions. Anything could have happened from the decisions they made from day to day. What if Scott hadn't figured out a way to destroy the nogitsune? Maybe the killing spree would have escalated, maybe Scott would have had to kill him. 

That's what Stiles thinks about during the car journey. If he hadn't done certain things, the world he lives in could be very different. Maybe he wouldn't be studying with the F.B.I., he wouldn't have bonded with Helena, he never would have fallen in love with Derek. It's impossible to think about because every string has a thousand strands, and even Stiles can't keep up with all the endless possibilities. 

Stiles thinks that if he hadn't made those decisions, he wouldn't be driving to meet a confirmed psychopath, where it is likely that only one will survive. He could have stayed with Derek, formed a plan together. But he's stupid, reckless, impulsive, and loyal to the world's end so he'll risk himself in order to save those he cares about. And right now, leaving Derek behind, a task that took Herculean type strength, is his best method of protection.

Unfortunately, just as Stiles picks up a road map, along with some snacks he deems essential (because who doesn't eat chocolate when they are on their way to their death?), the stolen car decides to break down, sputtering billows of grey gas into the air. Stiles could almost believe that it is a sign from the universe that he is meant to turn back. A warning not to continue. But Stiles likes to think that warnings are just suggestions with a little more demand. Not enough to stop him, of course. He once put a fork in the microwave just to see what would happen. He ended up blowing up the microwave and adding another black scuff to their already scarred kitchen. His dad made him work in the local butchers shop in order to pay for a new one, which only led to Stiles developing a fear of blood, considering the sheer amount he had to work with there. He shivers at the mere thought of it. 

As he begins the long trudge back to the forest, Stiles checks and rechecks his gun and bullets, resigning himself to the fact that no matter how many weapons he has, he isn't an expert and if he actually manages to use it against Kate, he'll be surprised. What has he done? Grimly, Stiles puts on the clothes stained with Derek's blood and sweat, letting the scent be absorbed into his skin and carried off in the wind. At least this trail will last longer than breadcrumbs. 

Happy thoughts are what drives Stiles forward. Meeting Scott in kindergarten, both of them wearing the same Batman shirt, and instantly knowing they would be best friends. Saturday mornings with his mom, making pancakes and singing ABBA songs. Solving cases with his dad. Becoming a pack member and having real people to rely on. Falling in love. Stiles wishes they would last longer, but they are as momentary as snowflakes falling. 

It takes hours of walking, hours of resting, before Stiles can even glimpse at the edge of a forest, and Stiles' exhaustion could mean that it is any forest. Maybe he's been heading in the wrong direction all along. There's a metaphor in there somewhere, Stiles is sure. 

The sight of some greenery does invigorate Stiles' mood and forces him to walk faster, until he's almost jogging. He reaches the first tree and runs his hands down the bark, the rough texture providing an odd sense of anchoring, startling his skin into reality. Trees are supposed to provide shelter and protection, so by coming here, Stiles should feel safe, or at least safer than he does out in the open. But they also attract lightning, and Stiles knows he's going to face one hell of a thunderstorm once he enters this place. Why are there always two sides to everything? Why can there never be one, easy pathway? 

Stiles dismisses every thought. He lets go of the tree and walks forward.

***

Sunset is setting the forest on fire when Stiles hears a snap behind him. It's not a natural snap, not the small step of a racoon or a mouse shifting the earth beneath, but a heavy break, not an intentional one. A mistake made by someone who would rather stay quiet. 

Stiles spins on his heel, ready to confront who he thinks is Kate or one of her minions, and instead faces someone even deadlier: Helena Danbury.

"Oh crap," he mutters one second before he is knocked backwards by the sheer strength of a full-grown she-wolf. He hits the ground with a tremendous slam, his head knocking against fallen twigs and rotten leaves. He's lucky there are no rocks in that part. 

Stiles can't decipher the look on Helena's face, perhaps a cross between anger, relief, fear and happiness. Each emotion washes over her faster than the human eye can process. He sees her select one. Anger. 

"You complete idiot! I am going to kill you! Literally! I am going to shove my hands into your stomach, pull out your intestines and strangle you with them. I asked you to do one thing. One thing! One thing while I took care of those guys, but no, you had to go running off to save your stupid boyfriend. Do you know how awful it felt to go back there and see you gone? I thought they'd taken you. I thought you were dead. And to top it all off, I nearly died as well. And what would have my pack have done then? Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused, you selfish bastard!" As Helena screeches at him, Stiles stays mute, letting her work through all her anger. It hurts him to hear her lay out everything he's done, bringing his guilt up to a whole new level, but he deserves every bit of it. She's right. He's selfish. He never really thought of the consequences for Helena or her pack, which is an awful thing to think, but it's the truth. And no matter what, the truth is always painful. 

Apologising is the only option Stiles has here. "I'm sorry," he says, a sentence he seems to be saying often nowadays. "I'm sorry. I don't even know how to begin to explain, but I can just say that I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I acted on instinct, and you deserved better. I'm sorry, Helena." 

She blinks, sending a small tear splashing onto Stiles' chest. Then her body is colliding with his, making them both shake with the strength of it. "I thought you were dead," she repeats. 

He hugs her back. "I thought you were dead too." 

Helena picks him up some time later. They start to exchange stories about their time away from each other. Helena didn't stray too far. She saw the F.B.I. being wiped out and the few that survived running for their lives. She swears that Rafe McCall was alive the last time she saw him, which gives Stiles a brief respite on his worrying. She also saw Kate and the others abandon the warehouse in pursuit of something, which Stiles tells her was him and Derek. Helena didn't want to go back to Virginia without knowing about Stiles, so she stayed nearby, coming back to the forest everyday, looking for any sign of him. Stiles can't believe she would do that for him, but he is beyond grateful for it. 

When he gets around to explaining why he is back here, she looks ready to smack him. "How many times do I have to call you an idiot before you realise you're always making stupid mistakes?"

"One more time?" Stiles suggests, which does actually earn him a smack. 

"Basically, you're telling me that you are walking, alone, to a fight with an insane werejaguar, which I didn't even know existed, knowing that you most likely won't make it out alive, all in the name of so called protection of your boyfriend?"

Stiles doesn't have the energy to dispute the 'boyfriend' part, so he nods and waits for the impact of another smack. It comes, as suspected. 

"I really wish I could find a word to describe how terrible your decision-making skills are, but no word will ever encompass this." Helena shakes her head, making her dark hair twirl and knot strand by strand.

"There never will be a word that powerful, I'm sorry to say. We'll just have to stick with 'idiot'. But this idiot needs your help. I need a way to immobilise Kate and the warehouse seems like my best bet. I need your help finding aconite, which should poison her and keep her docile enough until I can transport her back to Beacon Hills. Once we get it, I'll need a clean shot at her, to keep her distracted while you force the aconite into her body. Sound good?" 

Helena seems understandably stupefied, but eventually agrees to help, just so she can keep an eye on him, should anything go wrong. Stiles tries not think that Plan A never works. But this time, Stiles doesn't have a Plan B, so it's this or they're fucked. 

The warehouse looms into view after a while, and the quick flashback that obscures Stiles vision leaves him feeling weak in the knees. It's all blood and fire and bullets. The fear that has been simmering underneath the surface rises, and some part of him orders that he turn around this instant and run like hell. 

He swallows the fear and strides towards what used to be the east entrance. The entire building is just a mess of broken brick, wood and concrete, but he thinks that the wolfsbane supplies are on this side. If Derek was really going to use this place as a base, then he should have all kinds of poisons stocked. It's just a matter of getting in there, which might require a werewolf's strength in order to lift the materials. He tells Helena as much, and she just sighs in exasperation, but moves to comply with his request. 

She lifts and chucks plaster out of the way with such carelessness, Stiles nearly loses an eye. It takes a long time, the pleasant glow of golden sun vanishing and being overcome by blank darkness, but soon enough Helena's hand brushes over something that stings her which lets them know they are in the right place. While Helena cradles her hand, giving it time to heal, Stiles goes scrabbling around the rubble. He picks up multiple plants, anything he thinks might be useful, and then finally comes across what he wants. 

Gripping a small vial of aconite in his hand, he turns back to Helena and says, "Okay, step one, complete. Step two, see if we can find any of Derek's traps about the area and rig them to our advantage. Step three, draw Kate into a vulnerable position, so I can distract her while you lie in wait until I give you my signal to attack and neutralise her. Step four, take her back to Nessie's, where hopefully Derek won't murder me, and transport her back to Beacon Hills still incapacitated. How does that sound?"

"Completely insane and an easy way to get us killed," Helena answers, not unreasonably. 

Stiles rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny her analysis. The next hour consists of intense preparation and finger crossing, hoping that Kate will actually turn up and fall for all of this. Stiles tells Helena to go and hide, not wanting to mix their scents for any longer. She reluctantly does as he asks. 

Stiles is either very lucky or very unlucky when not half an hour later, a heavy marching occupies the air. He watches as the dust is unsettled and stones tremble because of the extreme force. Each stomp matches the beating of Stiles' frightened heart. He's afraid. He would be stupid not to be, but he made his choice, so here he is. 

Then, she's here, stalking towards him with intent purpose. Kate looks no different from the last time Stiles saw her, blonde hair, rigid muscle, and something unsettling that lingers behind her eyes. All in all, she's rather terrifying. 

She doesn't speak until she's standing right in front of him. "Stiles, sweetie, lovely to see you again. You look well. So unfortunate that we didn't get to talk last time we were here."

"Yeah, very unfortunate. I could have had a bullet planted in my brain and be done with all this bullshit, but I'm like a cockroach, very hard to kill."

Kate smirks. "We'll see about that. But, for now, I have someone here who wants to see you, and I think you'll want to see as well." She casts her gaze back to some of her henchman, showing Stiles' traps to be less effective than he'd hoped. Damn. 

The treeline seems to part as they drag someone forward. But it's not just someone. It's _his_ someone. It's Derek. Derek, who looks terrible, deathly pale and bleeding all over, wrapped in rope that is most likely soaked in wolfsbane to keep him from healing. Stiles gets ready to dart forward, but Kate quickly outstretches her arm and stops his movement, and also relieves him of his gun. "Naughty boy. Can't have that kind of stuff while we're having a nice chat." She clicks her fingers at the men. "Bring him here." Derek is unceremoniously dumped next to him. Stiles' heart breaks at the soft sound of pain he makes. "Make him stand. He'll want to see this."

Once Derek is in an upright position, Stiles latches on to him, trying to keep both himself and Derek steady. He still has the wherewithal to glare at Stiles, noiselessly cursing him for his stupidity. Stiles' weak smile does not put Derek's mind to rest. What does Stiles do now? He has to protect Derek, which means not leaving his side. He does a once over Derek's injuries, noting the fierce cut on his forehead, and the others that mar his marble beauty. He looks like he might have a broken arm as well. Probably a broken rib or two. Stiles just needs to hold out hope that Helena can think of something. Three against fifteen? Not exactly an even battle.

"You guys are adorable together. Honestly, I'm not surprised by your choice Derek. You've been hurt by so many strong women, might as well choose a no-good, scrawny, idiot teenager to fuck around with to prevent more heartache." Derek growls in response, arm tightening around Stiles protectively. Stiles can only imagine what he has gone through over the last day. Searching for Stiles and instead finding Kate. He is in for one hell of a tongue bashing when they get out of this. If they get out of this. "I'll admit he is pretty, but you know as well as I do, you don't deserve pretty things. Derek Hale, the failed alpha that couldn't even keep a pack of children together, allowed his own family to burn while he survived, let Scott McCall, a lovesick puppy, to overpower him and become alpha. You, Derek Hale, are a failure. You should have died that night. You should have screamed as the flesh melted from your bones. You should have been ash. I will not fail. You and your twink of a boyfriend will die, and I will win." 

Kate raises Stiles' own gun at Derek, ready to put a bullet through his brain, and there is nothing he can do to stop it. Stiles' heart near bursts with fear. He takes a breath, falling deep into Derek's eyes, watching him resign to his fate and apologise for bringing Stiles to the same end. He wants more time. He needs to say it. Now or never. 

Something is thrown towards them. Something small and compact. Stiles has no time to think about it before he and Derek are tossed backwards through the air, landing with a harsh bang and knocking the air out of the two of them. His head spins, tossing his vision in circles until the threat of vomiting rises. He tries to breathe. In the confusion, dust clouds and the beginnings of fire blurring the air, Stiles frees a startled Derek from his constraints. He manages to get most of them off, and without thinking, jumps into Derek's arms. They hug each other tightly, thanking god they are both alive. 

Stiles pulls back to place a hand on Derek's cheek, eyes racing up and down his face. "You're okay. You're alive. Oh my god, you're alive." Stiles surges forward and claims Derek's lips, who easily kisses him back. 

He begins to extract himself from Derek, coughing a little as the dust gathers in his lungs. He listens to roars and snarls, proving there to still be fighting happening. Derek and Stiles communicate without speaking, resolving to investigate.

It takes one step. One step. And everything is destroyed.

A figure breaks through the smoke. For a moment, Stiles thinks it's Helena.

He's wrong. 

He knows it's Kate before he sees her face. He sees the gun. He sees it pointed at Derek. He sees it fire.

He moves.

Stiles slams into Derek, bringing them both to the ground as the bullet makes impact. 

Stiles shouldn't be as startled as he is. He knew exactly what he was doing. But, he is.

The pain isn't instant. It takes a second, as if the body need time to process the new adjustment before it can react. Then, it hurts. It hurts worse than Stiles ever thought imaginable. He looks down at Derek, who seems confused, then understanding, then fearful. He witnesses the blood blooming on Stiles chest, staining the two of them. 

"No," Derek whispers. He flips them carefully, but the slightest quiver sends shocking waves of pain through Stiles and he cries out anyway. It hurts. Oh god, it's agony. _Make it stop,_ he begs the sky. Derek gathers Stiles in his arms, resting him between his knees, then placing a hand over the wound, trying to stem the blood flow. It doesn't work. The blood seeps through pink fingers, desperately wanting freedom from the confines of Stiles' body. The pain is so blinding, Stiles wants to shut his eyes, but a soaked hand grabs his face and holds him. "No, don't you dare close your eyes. You stay awake. I mean it. You stay awake. We'll get help, and you'll be fine. You know what your dad would do to me if you died? It's not worth thinking about, so just stay awake. Please, I need you stay awake," Derek rambles on. 

Stiles thinks it's funny, how their roles are almost reversed. It shouldn't be funny, but Stiles wants something to laugh about. His body won't let him laugh. Instead, he coughs, and tastes copper on his tongue. He knows what's happening. So, he needs to talk.

"D-Derek?" He manages to stutter out. He is brought closer to Derek, pressing their foreheads together. "I don't want to die." 

Wetness falls on Stiles' face.

"I thought I could b-be brave, but it hurts, and I don't wanna die, Derek. I w-want more time. It's not fair. I don't wanna go. Don't let me go." Tears drip from Stiles' own face too. He uses his last reserves of strength to lift his blood-stained hand and brush it along Derek's lips. 

"Never. You hear me, Stiles? You need to stay. There is so much I wanted to do, wanted to tell you. I won't let you go," Derek promises him, but it's a fake promise. The stench of blood is overwhelming. 

"Keep my dad safe, okay? He's lost so much, he needs someone. Will you do that for me?" Stiles asks in a breath. He notices that his breaths are getting shallower, harder. 

Derek can't find any more words, so he nods. 

"Hey, sourwolf?" Derek looks up from where he is silently sobbing into Stiles' bloody shirt. "I love you." 

Stiles never thought there was a sound for heartbreak, for pain beyond belief, for death itself, but Derek makes it.

The noise is devastating, but it is the last thing Stiles hears before his heart slows, and the world crumbles like sand between loose fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, I'm sorry? I really do apologise for this chapter, and I hope you won't kill me for it. But, I hope you enjoyed this anyway. Thank you for reading and leaving kudos and comments!


	10. Home

It's the strangest sensation; to wake up but feel as if you're falling asleep. Your mind rising to the surface, but your body sinking further below. A compass that cannot decide which direction to point. 

There is nothing particular about why Stiles wakes up. It could have been any number of things, the delicate breaths of someone close to him, the humming of something electric nearby, the pleasant aroma of herbs. But whatever it is, it drags Stiles from somewhere faraway and brings him to the land of consciousness with a small breath. 

His first real thought is: ow. Because everything hurts, his whole body tainted with the pain of having a bullet forming a hole he's never wanted in his body. Stiles wants to move his hand to the wound, but he doesn't have any strength left. Instead, he settles for pushing his eyes open. 

Initially, his vision is blurred, but this soon vanishes and allows Stiles to take account of the room he's currently vegetating in. He recognises it. It's the room that he and Derek had shared in Nessie's house. 

It is only then that it really sinks in what happened. Stiles died, or almost did. He thought he had died. He had taken his last breath. He had said his last words. He had said... 

He's alive. It's unbelievable. It's impossible. It's unreal. 

But here he is, eyes blinking open and instantaneously being filled with the image of Derek's face. Derek's haggard, distraught, terrified face, revealing more emotions than Stiles has ever seen on his face before. 

Stiles' vocal cords hurt too much to speak, so he tries to smile at Derek, convey some semblance of happiness. It doesn't seem to appease Derek much, but he too smiles, relief beyond imagination fuelling such an action. "You're awake," Derek exhales, his hot breath warming the cold skin of Stiles' face. "Jesus, you're awake. You're really awake." 

The words _no shit, Sherlock_ are on the tip of Stiles' tongue, but considering everything both of them have been through recently, Stiles opts to keep his sarcasm to himself. He smiles again, his cheek muscles protesting such wideness, but he doesn't care, Derek needs to see him smiling, see him _alive_. 

Bypassing the pain that radiates from every pore, Stiles mumbles with a voice grittier than sandpaper, "Hi." 

Derek laughs, actually laughs, then rushes forward and presses his lips to Stiles'. It's soft, but marking and definitive. "Only you, only you would wake up from a near death experience and say 'hi' so casually like nothing has happened." Derek keeps his hands on either side of Stiles' face, making him think he wants to keep contact with him at all time, proving to himself that Stiles is real. To be honest, Stiles is just as unsure. He really thought he was going to die. He didn't want to, but he believed was going to. 

"That's me. Nothing fazes me. King of casual," Stiles jokes, but it doesn't feel particularly funny, because it does faze Stiles. What happened fazes him deeply. He hates thinking about it, but simultaneously, it is the only thing he can think about. 

"Stiles," whispers Derek, but he adds nothing to it, as if he just wanted to say Stiles' name, tethering the two of them. 

"Derek," Stiles whispers back. He lifts a heavy arm and watches it curve over Derek's own, traverse up the rise of muscles, the thick cords of his neck and the smooth lines of the wolf's face, before landing on full pink lips. He rubs the pads of his fingers back and forth along them. They are slightly chapped from obsessive biting, probably from worry. After six eternities of just staring at each other, Stiles opens his mouth, "What happened?"

The older man sits on the bed next to Stiles, the action so carefully done that it barely shakes. It's only then Stiles realises he's wired up to different kinds of machinery. A drip of sorts and a heart rate monitor. Who knew these werewolves were so well supplied with medical equipment?

Derek takes his time, trying to collect his thoughts as he remembers that terrible day. "Um, it turns out that Nessie and the others followed me. They saw me being taken, and they were going to come after me but Helena stopped them, told them you had a plan - which Helena mentioned to me after, that was no plan Stiles, and if it was, it fucking sucked, it was a fucking suicide mission, you douche - anyway, they joined with her, and once they saw it was going bad, they attacked. Took out the rest of them." 

Stiles blinks carefully as Derek continues, "It was Helena that stopped Kate after you were shot. She poisoned her. She had also called an ambulance which I could hear coming at that point. But I was so overcome with anger, I thought you were dead, I thought I would never see your eyes open again, so I let Nessie take care of you and I killed her. I ripped out her throat and I watched her bleed." The bitterness in Derek's voice leaves a foul taste in both of their mouths. "Once the ambulance came, we followed you to the hospital and they stabilised you. But we couldn't let you stay, they would ask too many questions. So, we smuggled you out and Nessie has been taking care of you for the past couple of days."

There is only one of those recent revelations that Stiles focuses on. With a sharp exhale, he exclaims, "Kate is dead? She's really dead? Are you sure?" 

"Yes. I burned her body. There is no chance of her coming back." There is such finality in the words spoken. Stiles should jump with joy and relief, but rather than that, he feels nothing. Only emptiness. And he doesn't know why. He shuts his eyes for a moment, tricking himself into believing that he is somewhere else. 

"You okay?" 

Opening his eyes, Stiles turns to Derek. "I don't know," he replies honestly. "I don't know how to feel anything anymore. This is a great thing, you got revenge on your family's killer, my would-be murderer is dead, the world is a better place." Derek listens as Stiles becomes more and more agitated. He wrings his hands together, ready to twist to the point of extreme pain, but Derek reaches out quickly and covers Stiles' hands with his own. He waits until Stiles finally asks under his breath, "Why don't I feel okay?"

Stiles is pulled into Derek's arms. Consumed by the other's warmth, he lets go. Stiles cries. He unravels under Derek's body, soaking Derek's shirt with water. More than anything in the world, Stiles wants his dad. He was on the verge of death, he needs his dad. 

"Can we go home?" Stiles cries, entire body quaking. 

Derek tightens his grip on the human, and nods in affirmation. "Of course." 

They break apart when the door opens, and little Sammy is there carrying a tray of food, with Nessie not far behind. 

"Hi Stiles! You look so much better!" Sammy beams at him. "I was worried, you looked like a ghost when you got here. I'm scared of ghosts." 

Stiles wipes at his eyes and plasters on a false smile. "Hi Sammy. Don't worry about it, ghosts scare me too." The baby werewolf drops the tray at the bottom of the bed and jumps up to give Stiles a nice pat with the teddy bear he is holding. Stiles smiles as a thank you. 

"Alright Sam, go play with your sisters, I need to talk to Stiles alone." 'Alone' does send a ripple of fear through Stiles. He doesn't think he has anything left in him for an argument. 

Sammy leaves without too much protest, giving Stiles one last parting pat then hopping out the room. Stiles wishes he could join him because Nessie's face is kind of giving him the creeps. 

Only once the door shuts Nessie begins to speak, "Your actions could have cost us all. I hope you realise that." Stiles nods, because he does, of course he does. He could have gotten all of them killed. Derek squeezes his hand for comfort. "However, I made a promise to Talia to keep Derek safe, and I wasn't able to. He was taken and harmed, and I will regret that forever. But you were able to. You sacrificed your own life for him, so I am extremely grateful. But never do anything like that Mr. Stilinski again, or we will be having words." He gulps a little because he understands that 'having words' with Nessie will not be a pleasant experience for him. 

The alpha werewolf lets a small smile create itself on her face, even though it looks like she'd rather smother it. She begins to move away, but Stiles catches her attention. "Nessie, thank you. For everything. If you hadn't turned up and helped, I wouldn't be here." 

With a direct look at Derek, she says, "Don't worry, you're in good hands now." 

Stiles falls back onto the mountain of pillows on the bed, his body desiring rest, even though he's probably been sleeping for at least two days. A thought occurs to him before he allows himself to sleep. "Hey, what happened to Helena? Is she alright?" 

Derek gets in beside him and gingerly curls his arms around him. "She's fine. Jane has taken quite a shine to her and keeps trying to convince her to do her makeup." 

Stiles laughs at the thought of Helena sitting down to do a fifteen-year-old's makeup. "Once you nap, she can come in and see you. Go to sleep. You need it."

He thinks about demanding to see her. He wants to prove she's alright, but his eyelids betray him and within minutes, sleep carries him away. 

***

It takes a week, a whole fucking seven days, before Derek can even consider believing Stiles to be okay, seven days of Stiles going crazy because he's not allowed to move an inch without Derek growling. Or Helena. As soon as he woke up the next day, she had pounced on him and kept a tight hold. She was almost worse than Derek because she kept popping up everywhere. At least with Derek, Stiles always had him within his eye line, Helena moved like a damn shadow.

They are sitting in the den, with Sammy in his lap and Jane getting her hair braided by a grudging Helena, when she blurts out, "I need to go home." 

There is no premise to the statement, just pure fact and an unyielding tone. Stiles tries not to have any visible reaction, but he guesses that doesn't matter to a werewolf, they can smell every emotion he has with ease. Helena will be able to smell his disappointment and sadness, but also his resignation because he can't ask her to stay, much less come with them to Beacon Hills. She's already done so much for him, and now it's her pack that need her. 

So, he does what he needs to do. He whispers, "okay," while cuddling Sammy closer. 

Helena lets go of Jane's hair and bum-scootches her way to him. He turns to her. "I would stay if I could. You know that, don't you?" 

"Yeah, I do. And I know you need your pack and they need you. I'll be fine. Promise." Sammy's hair smells like strawberries when a few tufts brush under his nose.

"Thanks, for understanding." 

"Did you think I wouldn't?" There shouldn't be any sharpness or resentment in his voice, but just because there shouldn't be, doesn't mean there's not. Stiles doesn't know why. He's fine with this. He's fine with everything. He feels completely recovered, but maybe that's just the physical part. There are only so many kisses and hugs from Derek that can soothe his problems. There is a lot more wrong with Stiles than he lets people believe. 

Helena either doesn't or chooses not to notice this change. Rather, she just picks up his hand and entwines their fingers. He thinks she pretends not to notice the tear that streams down his face as well. Why can't he be allowed to feel okay? What's wrong with him?

By the end of the night, Helena is ready to go, with a backpack filled with gifts from the pack. They hug her in turn. They seemed to have welcomed her with open arms the moment they saw her. It's nice. Stiles can't manage to muster up any more feeling than that. 

Stiles and Helena hold each other for a long time, not denying how close they've grown over the past few weeks. He watches as she climbs into a car that the pack are letting her borrow. It's good sign. It means more alliances are being made between good packs. Better for Scott and the rest of them. It dawns on him that he is going to see Scott again. And Malia. And Lydia. He's made so many mistakes recently, he wonders if they'll recognise him. What will he tell them? Will he tell them? But he knows one thing. Lydia deserves to know the truth. He can't keep hurting her. She is one of the best people he knows, and she needs someone who doesn't abuse that. That's what he's been doing since the moment he called Derek. Hurting her. Betraying her. He really is an asshole. 

He doesn't stop to talk to Derek, who keeps giving him this pitying look. Like a dog pleading. If you can believe it. 

Stiles walks off into the woods, noticing that his footsteps have never sounded so loud before. He stops sometime later. He knows he's lost, but he doesn't care. He hunches down against a tree and waits for oblivion to happen. 

It could be hours, or it could be minutes later when Stiles next hears someone crashing through the trees. He tilts his head up, not surprised to see Derek looming above him. He parks himself next to Stiles, raising his arms to provide him with heat. Stiles gives in and leans into him. 

"I'm not okay," Stiles admits to Derek. He picks up a leaf and then tears it apart. The pieces become scattered on his jeans.

"I know." 

"And I don't know what to do about it." Derek breathes audibly and keeps his arm tight around the human boy. 

"Time, I suppose." He pauses. "Everyone always says that helps." 

"Did it help you?" Stiles asks. He is nervous about asking about this. It is extremely personal, and, in all honesty, Stiles has no idea what they are to each other right now. The concept of boyfriends doesn't seem to match up with everything Stiles knows about Derek. Especially with his previous relationship history. He doesn't want to ruin this before it even begins. 

Derek takes a while to answer, "I'm not sure. Time meant I was occupied because things kept coming up. I had a way to distract myself. That doesn't mean that I don't feel the pain or the loss every single morning when I get out of bed. I think time just gives us an opportunity to continue, not to forget."

Stiles soaks up the message and relaxes, that weight on his shoulders lessening. They stay out there until he starts to shiver from the cold. Stiles falls asleep easily that night, lulled by the warmth of the werewolf. 

The next morning, Stiles and Derek pack their few and far between supplies and get ready to make the trip back to Beacon Hills. It's sad saying goodbye to Sammy and the others, but it's nothing compared to the happiness he experiences through the knowledge of his returning home. It's fine that he's nervous and scared, because this time, he's not alone. Stiles promises that he'll come visit them, especially little Sam because he desperately wants to see the new Justice League film and Stiles has to be present when he does. 

Once they are on the road, the air seems more breathable, the knot in his chest less constricting, so he does what any normal person would, he turns on the radio and belts out the lyrics of some old rock anthems in his worst singing voice ever. 

_"Shot through the heart, and you're to blame, darlin' you give love a bad name!"_

This goes on for a while, until eventually, the sound of Stiles' off-key caterwauling pushes Derek to the edge and makes him exclaim, "Stiles! For god's sake, you are butchering a perfectly good Bon Jovi song and I will not forgive you for such a heinous act, you hooligan."

"Shut up, I'm fucking nailin' this song. You ready? Listen to this perfect guitar solo." Whilst imitating the guitar riff, he pulls out his rusty yet reliable air guitar. He rather relentlessly continues to ruin the song until it reaches its fruition. "Boom, I am a one-man musical master. Bow down to my genius!" 

"I hate you so much," declares Derek. Stiles knows it's not true, but it reminds him of what he said when he was 'dying'. He said he loved Derek. And he truly thought he did. Does he think that now? Can he feel it when he looks at Derek? Those stupid clichés like the heart fluttering, the stomach dropping and the breaths that come out too fast when they make eye contact? Does that mean love? Stiles nearly sacrificed his life for this man, but he is willing to do that for anyone that he cares about. Can he really say he loves Derek in the cold light of day? Is it the truth? 

Derek notices the twist in the atmosphere in the car, and says, "Are you okay? You've gone uncharacteristically quiet over there." 

Stiles mutters something indistinguishable because he can't find the right words. Anyway, what would he say? 

The car is pulled over in the blink of an eye. Maybe Derek should have trained as a precision driver. Seems like a good use of his skills, a.k.a. driving like a freaking maniac. Every other vehicle on the road honks their horns in protest but Derek doesn't give the tiniest shit. 

"Okay, what's wrong? And don't lie to me. I can hear your heartbeat, remember?" Derek is giving Stiles his full attention, and it is more than a little unsettling. He's got that murder-y look in his eye again. It is normally always there, but it is particularly present right now. 

Stiles inhales massively. "Fine. I said some things that night, and I'm just wondering about them. Wondering how you feel about them. If you agreed with those things or if maybe you were repelled by them? I mean, I don't know what you were thinking that night. I don't know what _I_ was thinking. Well, I know what I was thinking, but that's only because I thought it would be the last time I would think it - "

"Stiles, for the love of all that is good and holy, get to the point already," Derek pleads with him, shaking his head in distaste.

"I said I love you," he spits out as fast as he can. He waits for the inevitable nuclear explosion. 

"I remember Stiles. Trust me, I remember everything." Derek reaches out and brings Stiles' chin up so their eyes can meet. Stiles wants to shut his eyes because this is far too intense for his liking, but he tries to stay strong. 

"And? What did you think of that?" 

"I think," Derek leans in, tugging Stiles closer until their noses are grazing each other, "that I love you too, Stiles Stilinski." 

"You do?" Stiles whispers. Derek nods. Stiles' smile is brighter than the sun. 

He rushes forward and kisses Derek with incredible passion. It quickly escalates, with Derek's tongue breaching his mouth and tasting him. Stiles scratches his nails up Derek's face to tangle in his thick hair and tugs sharply, wrenching a groan from the wolf. In retaliation, Derek bites down on his lower lip to the point of pain. The gearshift provides a slight problem for their want to move closer to each other, so Stiles ends up crawling over it to continue the kissing. The only sounds he can hear are the wet slapping of their lips smacking together, and the heavy panting that they both cause each other to make. Stiles shifts his hips, grinding them down on Derek's and increasing the tension sparking between them. There is an undeniable tightness in his pants, especially when Derek breaks the kiss to latch onto Stiles' neck and suck large purple bruises onto his skin. 

There is one second of indecisiveness before Stiles' fingers are delving deeper into Derek's pants. Without thinking too much, he unzips and pulls Derek's cock free. Wrapping his long fingers around the length, he jerks Derek to full hardness, enjoying the thin whining he is causing him to produce. Their mouths find each other again, sucking and pulling, until Stiles' lips are red raw and his jaw is aching, but in the best way possible. Stiles can feel when Derek gets close, the electric thrum in his body buzzing violently until there threatens to be an overload. Derek's noises grow more insistent and then thick, hot spurts of come splatter on Stiles and Derek's shirts. Derek's fingers only just graze over Stiles' bulge and then he's coming as well, wetness filling his briefs, which will become very unpleasant once it dries, but it doesn't matter to Stiles right now. They both take a second to come down from their highs. The corners of Stiles' mouth lift up, as do Derek's when they finally catch their breath. 

"I didn't know voyeurism was one of your kinks," Stiles says, his smile turning more into a devilish grin. 

"That was not my fault. You instigated that kiss - "

"one which you happily reciprocated, you asshole!" Stiles objects, pointing an accusing finger at the wolf. 

" - and you unzipped my pants first, so technically, all of this is your fault," Derek reminds him with triumph on his smug, handsome face. Derek infuriates Stiles, and Stiles infuriates Derek. Which could be a reason why they work so well. "But we should probably clean up and get back on the road. I'd rather not get reported for indecent exposure."

Stiles has to agree with him there. He can't believe they just did that. Luckily, the roads aren't too busy right now, but the brightness of the sun chastises Stiles for his stupid behaviour anyway. Fuck it, right? YOLO, and every other idiotic millennial cliché you can think of. He picks out an old t-shirt from his bag and cleans himself and Derek, but their action has kind of stained the cloth with spunk, so it is going to need a proper wash to actually go away. Also, the car reeks of sex, so Stiles decides to roll down his window to air it out a bit. 

The rest of the ride goes pretty smoothly. Every so often, Derek reaches out and takes Stiles' hand, whether that's because he's experimenting with this whole sort of relationship business between the two of them, or because Stiles' rising anxiety is making his nose twitch, is impossible to decipher, but Stiles goes with it. For the most part, Derek's hands are smooth, almost soft, which just seems incongruous considering the sheer amount of fights he's been in, but there are certain scars lingering underneath that no one would be able to notice unless they were looking intently. Stiles knows where they are from. The fire, the scars that Derek won't let fully heal as a reminder of his loss, much like his tattoo. He doesn't comment on them, just keeps clutching the hand, because it's in those pure seconds that Derek's walls crumble and Stiles can do nothing but relish those seconds. 

The moon rises, but Derek doesn't want to stop. He says that with his abilities he'll be able to stay awake for hours and he wants to get to Beacon Hills as quickly as possible. Stiles doesn't complain and falls asleep with his head against the cool window. It's noon the next day when he wakes up, and Derek thinks they should stop for some food. He doesn't look overly tired, but Stiles worries no matter what. Seems to be his M.O. these days. 

Inside a little café, Stiles gorges on a hamburger and curly fries, before a realisation dawns on him, "Hey, is this our first date?"

Derek looks up sharply from where he is reading one of the free newspapers the café provides. To Stiles, he looks flabbergasted, which seems like a bad sign.

"Or not," Stiles swiftly backtracks. "No pressure. We don't need to label anything. It's fine. Seriously - "

"Stiles, when I take you out on a date, I can promise you that it won't be to The Motorside Café off Interstate 80. I'd like to think I have a bit more class than that," Derek says ruefully. 

If you can choke on air, then Stiles definitely does that. "So, you mean...?"

"I mean, that if your insecure teenage heart needs such labelling, you can call me your boyfriend if you like. Can I continue reading now?" Derek sends an annoyed look at him, but Stiles completely disregards that, overcome with joy, scrambling over the table to grip Derek and slam their lips together. Derek lets out an amused chuckle but doesn't fight the kiss. They have to break apart when the waitress brings over the check and the other food they ordered for the rest of the drive. Not long later, they are back on the road, but, his fear that normally uses more body space than blood, takes a backseat as he feels nothing but contentment. 

Derek drives faster, trying to make it to Beacon Hills by nightfall. As the sky grows even dimmer, any starlight hidden by vast expanses of cloud, Stiles insists on taking a turn and letting Derek rest. Derek grumbles for a while, but Stiles is persistent, and he gives in, falling asleep as soon as he settles in a comfortable position.

It's eleven o'clock when Stiles sees the first sign for Beacon Hills. His heart jumps. Home is so close. He glances at Derek's sleeping form, stretching out his hand to fall on his thigh, giving Stiles a source of gravity. "Are we making a mistake?" he whispers, not wanting an answer but needing to ask the question. 

Another two hours reveals the _'Welcome to Beacon Hills'_ sign, leaving Stiles' mind whirring faster than light speed. It looks the same. The same roads, the same trees, the same buildings. Are the people the same? 

Nearly there. Almost. Close. Just. Here.

He's home. 

The light is on which means his dad is right inside those walls, probably working on a new case, hunched over the dining room table, case files covering the wood, glass of whiskey being loosely gripped in his calloused hand. Stiles can picture it so vividly. He's in there. Oh my god, he's in there. Stiles clambers out of the car, nearly tripping in his haste, rushing up the porch and knocking loudly. 

He needs to see him. He needs to see his dad. 

The door swings open and his dad is standing there, a shocked expression spread across his face. "Stiles? What - "

He doesn't let him finish, just charges forward and throws his arms around his dad. The tears that have been hiding behind his eyes spill over and land on the crumpled Sheriff's uniform. "Hi dad," he murmurs, inhaling that comforting smell of whiskey and aftershave. 

"Son, what are you doing here?"

It's then that Derek comes meandering out of the car and up the steps, nodding at the Sherriff in greeting. Stiles looks back and forth between the two men, then says, "It's a very long story."

They are invited in and sat down in the living room. His dad brings in some drinks and food. Stiles raises his eyebrows at the snacks as most of them are unhealthy, but bites back any comment because he knows he's got a lot of explaining to do. He can overlook this, just once. 

"So, how do you want to begin?" his dad asks him. Derek and Stiles exchange a look, and Stiles wants to take his hand, but refrains under his dad's watchful gaze. Though, if the Sherriff is as good as Stiles believes him to be, then he already knows what's going on between them. 

Stiles starts from the very beginning, his first day at the F.B.I. He tells his dad about his search for Derek, about Agent McCall, the mission and how it failed, Kate Argent, Derek and Stiles on the run, Nessie and the pack. When it comes to him being shot, he struggles to say the words, but once they are out, the horror on his dad's face makes Stiles' stomach drop. He moves on quickly, talking about his recovery and the decision to come back. Once the story ends, his dad closes his eyes, absorbing the events. 

"So, in the time you've been away, when I thought you'd be having the time of your life studying with the F.B.I., you've nearly been blown up, you've been threatened, and you've been shot." Stiles nods carefully. "Oh, son, I'm so sorry." 

His dad moves forward and hugs him, which Stiles gladly accepts. "It's okay, dad." It's clear that the Sherriff disagrees, but only moves to squeeze him tighter. There is a small pang of pain from where his bullet wound is still healing, but he ignores it. "I'll be okay."

After a while, they have to let go of each other, and Stiles can see on his dad's face that he has a story to tell as well. Derek and Stiles listen as his dad tells them about the hunters and the Anuk-ite and it extremely boggles Stiles' mind. Why didn't Scott tell him about this? He could have helped. _Damn you Scott, I am going to smack you silly when I see you,_ Stiles vows. Then it occurs to him. 

"Dad, where's Scott?" Stiles demands. His dad looks conflicted but remains quiet. "Dad, tell me where he is." 

The fiery look in Stiles' eyes must convince his dad somehow, because he gives him an address of a shipping container unit on the outskirts of town, where Scott and Malia are supposed to be meeting Deucalion. Stiles jumps up, hugging his dad again and promising to be back soon, and then grabbing Derek's arm to shove him out the door. 

His dad calls him back, and as he turns around the keys to Roscoe are thrown into his hand. Utter happiness is what he feels when he finally gets to sit behind his wheel. The same smell, the same sound. It is awesome. Stiles grins at Derek. 

"Let's go find us a teen wolf."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is okay! Whoop! I don't think it was ever an option for me to kill him off. I am slightly worried this chapter might be rushed, but I really wanted them to get back to Beacon Hills, so I could finish this story line. And, I've just got back to university, making things a little bit hectic at the moment, so my updating may be even messier. Sorry about that. I am planning on doing maybe one or two chapters more and an epilogue, so this story is nearly over, which is making me sad, because I have enjoyed writing this. I hope you're still enjoying it too. Also, I hope the smut is up to your standard. It's my first time really writing something like that. There will be more in the next chapter, so we'll see how that goes. Thank you all for the reads, kudos and comments! I really appreciate it! <3


	11. The Wolves of War

There are no solid plans in Stiles' mind when he begins driving. Just put the keys in the ignition, turn the wheel and press down on the accelerator. He has no idea what he should be expecting to find at this place, but he can deal with it. Of course he can. 

Derek doesn't say anything during the ride, but out of the corner of his eye, he can see Derek continually glancing at him. His vision just constantly shifting to wash over Stiles like he's making sure he's still there, like he's going to disappear now that they are back in Beacon Hills, now that they are surrounded by the old.

Just as Stiles reaches the turn off before the shipping container unit, he stops the car, parking in a small ditch. 

"Okay," he begins, fully facing the werewolf, "what's wrong with you? Seriously, you have this look in your eye which is just freaking me the hell out."

"Stiles, I'm fine, so can you just drive please? We don't know what's happening with Scott and the others right now. They might need our help," Derek scolds him.

"Just because I can't hear your heartbeat, doesn't mean I've become mentally incompetent and completely inept at reading facial expressions. So, if we going to be in a relationship, we have to be honest with each other, even when it hurts, especially when it hurts, because that's when it is the most important." How Stiles manages to spew all this teenage girl magazine article nonsense, he doesn't know. Maybe he should be a columnist for Cosmopolitan. Maybe that's where his real skillset lies. But, he knows what he said is true, so he doesn't regret it. 

"What's going to happen when you see all of them? Will things change, between us?" It sounds as if it physically pains Derek to grind the words out, but he does it anyway. Then it becomes astoundingly apparent. There was always hesitation for Derek to return to Beacon Hills, even if he hid it and denied when asked, but the reasoning behind it is different from what Stiles expected. 

"Are you afraid of losing me?" Stiles whispers, this time the word 'lose' means more than just physical loss. It is all-encompassing. 

"Always," Derek whispers back, "But there are two types of loss this time. This second type could change everything between us, and you and I both know who is going to encourage that change. She will..." Derek doesn't finish, but Stiles already knows the ending. Every one of Derek's insecurities break on his face and they pierce Stiles' heart with vehemence. 

Stiles grips Derek's face in between his shaky hands, mind and matter flooded with too many things. "Derek, I choose you. It doesn't matter who I see in the next ten minutes or in the next ten years, because I am in love with you, and I need to be with you. I won't let anything change that." 

Pressing his lips to Stiles', Derek traces a gentle hand down the lines of his face. They keep their eyes closed for longer than they should, breathing through each other and for each other, an illusion of time halting. But all illusions shatter at some point. 

Derek decides to go on by foot to scout out the area. Stiles doesn't like it, but it's clear that Derek needs some breathing room. He keeps driving until he sees the blaring lights of the unit, and Stiles' heart erupts. He can hear the gunfire, see the other vehicles, and knows something is deeply wrong. 

He drives faster, and then he does something crazy. Of course he does, because he's Stiles and crazy is in his DNA. The poor bastard doesn't even know what's happening until it's too late. Stiles hits him full force, sending him flying and smacking into a wall, therefore saving Scott's life. 

Sticking his head out the window, an expression filled with joy and triumph, he announces, "You didn't think you were doing this without me, did you?"

And then, like the white knight riding in to slay the dragon, Derek appears and adds, "Without us?"

_You sound like a fucking douche,_ Stiles thinks while rolling his eyes. 

It only takes a few minutes for the fight to end, Derek and Peter and Malia teaming up to practically decimate the hunters' forces. The ones that are left realise their chances of survival are limited, so they abandon ship and let their weaponry clatter to the ground with a thud. 

Stiles gets out of the car and immediately Lydia is there, hugging him with all her might, and she is a banshee, so she's got a lot of might. A lot of might she is probably going to use once she finds out what he's done. Stiles hates himself. He hugs her back, enjoying her warm embrace, afraid that he'll never feel it again. He loves her, but it's not in the right way. With Derek, he feels things he never thought capable. With Lydia, he feels love, affection, friendship and so many emotions, and he can name them all. He can name everything he feels for Lydia, pin them down as easily as he would on his pin board, tie them up with red string, yellow string, green string. Except with Derek, there is nothing to label, his feelings cannot be pinned down with words, because those emotions are all encompassing and unexplainable. 

They break apart to join the others, Stiles finding Derek's glowing eyes in the dark with ease, just before he is swamped by hugs from Scott and Malia. Peter thankfully refrains from doing the same. Scott even gives Derek a firm hug in greeting, which Derek accepts with no trouble at all, demonstrating how far he's come. Stiles feels an absurd sense of pride.

Scott moves away to crouch in front of a bloody Deucalion. Stiles just listens as the man tells Scott that Gerard fears him the most because he knows he can't beat Scott. Stiles thinks that's a valid assessment. Everyone can only watch as Deucalion takes a final breath and his body goes slack. Stiles was never a fan of the man, but he feels a pang at the look of unhappiness on his best friend's face.

Scott gathers himself, putting on a brave face and smiling at Stiles, "It's good to see you, man."

"It really is. I don't know how you survived without me," he quips, trying to keep the lightness alive. 

"I am capable of some things you know."

"Yeah, tell that to my pet hamster Milo who died not an hour after I left you with him to look after," he berates his bro. 

Scott looks like someone has kicked his puppy, his mouth falling open and quickly objecting, "He was smelling, how was I supposed to know you can't bathe a hamster? I was eight!" 

"Eight, and a hamster murderer! You're not even showing any remorse, shame on you Scott McCall!" 

All present hate Stiles and Scott's banter, but it's Lydia that brings it to an end by snapping, "Alright, forget the hamster, we have real problems right now." She turns to Stiles and Derek. "Do you know about everything? Everything that's happened?" 

Stiles gives an edited version of what his dad told him, Derek providing small interjections when Stiles rushes over important facts. 

The story is just nearing the end when a crackling sound filters through the air. Stiles spins around to find the source, but Scott and the other supernaturals are already heading towards his jeep with purpose, evidently identifying the radio sitting in there as the cause. That's not fair. He wishes sometimes that they could accommodate for Stiles' limited human abilities. 

He hops into the car, as does Scott, and fiddles with the amplifiers until a voice is heard. A terrible voice. 

_"Blood and destruction, dreadful objects so familiar. All pity choked with custom of fell deeds. Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, with Ate by his side come hot from hell, shall in these confines with a monarch's voice ..."_

The frightful drawl of Gerard's speech is enough to send shivers down Stiles' spine. Thoughts of his fists landing on his body resurface. 

_"Do you know the rest, Scott? Do you know your Shakespeare?"_ are the questions asked. It's easy to imagine Gerard sitting in a swivel chair, hands petting a white cat. The perfect villain. Human villain anyway. 

Scott looks to Derek, who gives a small nod and speaks the answer, "Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war."

_"War indeed. Welcome back Derek. You must all be feeling rather nostalgic,"_ Gerard taunts them, playing with their minds as easily as wet clay. Stiles watches Derek, trying to gauge his reaction but his face remains impassive, all those emotions he expressed not an half an hour ago lost without a trace. _"Are you pleased with the little family reunion I've gathered around you?"_

All any of them can do is listen as Gerard tortures Jackson who ineffectually throws threats for them to hear through the radio. Lydia's face twists with pain at his hurt. Stiles has no right to think anything of her response, but all he can remember is the awful way Jackson treated her. Names and locations are given to Scott as he continues to trade threats with Gerard. No matter what anyone says, Stiles has to admit that the man has a way with words. 

At long last, the radio goes dead, Gerard leaving them with one final warning, _"The dogs of war, Scott, they're coming for you."_ Scott squeezes the radio to the point just before shattering. The group collectively releases a breath. Then Scott jumps into action, calling Theo and demanding he buy them some time to form a plan and get help. 

It's decided they should convene at the animal clinic, so they can talk things through. Stiles decides that afterwards, it's time to come clean to Lydia. Lydia rides with Stiles and gives him a beautiful smile as she does so. It's like Stiles is being buried under a mountain of guilt. 

They arrive quickly, locking all the exits and entryways, before circling around the operating table. Stiles tells his story, the astoundingly edited story admittedly, but his version of events all the same. He tries his best not to keep swivelling his attention to Derek, but he's like a flame and Stiles is the moth, always attracted to his light. He stops talking long enough for the others to explain about the Anuk-ite. Which sounds awful by the way. And he wants to firmly punch Scott in the stomach for keeping it a secret. 

Instead, he keeps his fists clenched, and collates all the new information into an actual sentence. "Okay, so you're telling me we've got to up against this thing blind? And face our deepest fear?" The universe shouldn't be allowed to dish out so much bullshit in one day. 

"Yeah, why? What do you fear most?" Scott asks. 

Stiles already knows the answer, he just doesn't want to say it, so he lies despite three members of the group being able to hear his heartbeat uptick as he says, "Blindness." 

Thankfully, no one comments, just continues to steamroll on, giving Stiles and Lydia the task of freeing the world's biggest douchebag and the others heading to the High School to find yet another supernatural villain. Their poor high school has been through a lot these past years, it's a wonder it isn't crumbling or permanently stained with blood. Maybe supernaturals hate math as much as Stiles does. 

As everyone gets ready, Stiles pulls Derek to the side and whispers, "Don't do anything stupid, alright? Don't go all self-sacrificing or heroic on me now. Don't be an idiot."

"Stiles, is this your misguided way of telling me to be careful?" The smug expression on Derek's face really pisses Stiles off.

"Yes, you fucking asshole. Don't damage the goods before I've had the chance to really sample them." 

"Wow, your sweet talk just gets better and better." Scott sends a look over to them, informing Derek that it's time to go. "Don't worry dear, I'll be home in time for tea." If Stiles was a werewolf, he would be tempted to flash his eyes and snarl at Derek, instead he just glowers as he lets the man he loves walk away. 

Lydia steps up not a few seconds later, rubbing a comforting hand up his forearm, but it's not comforting. It hurts because he feels guilty. He doesn't regret his feelings for Derek, but he regrets that he became involved with Lydia before he could realise them, he regrets that he did things with Derek before talking to her. He doesn't want to hurt her. He would do anything for her. "You know they're going to be okay. We've faced worse and come out on top."

"Yeah, it's just, Derek, he's been through a lot these past few months. I shouldn't worry, but I do." Stiles hates saying it, especially in front of Lydia, but he can't stop the words from tumbling free. 

"You and Derek, you really got close, huh?" Lydia says quietly. Stiles' heart stops at the slight tremor hidden in her voice. 

"Lydia..." He can't finish. He doesn't know how. 

"It's okay, just tell me." She finally realigns their eyes and Stiles wishes that the floor would eat him at the expression on her face. 

"I love him," Stiles admits. A rush of warm air leaves him, as if this is a relief, as if this act is actually helping him, but it just destroys him. 

Lydia smiles a little, raising her hands to cup his face and search his eyes. "I'm happy for you. I always knew there was something there. You'd have to be blind not to see it. But then he left, and everything happened, and there was a chance, and I'm so glad we took it. Because I love you, Stiles Stilinski. Nothing will change that. So, live your life, be happy and love who you are supposed to love." 

"I love you Lydia." Her smile spreads a little wider and she places the smallest kiss on his lips before retracting her hands. 

"Come on, we need to save Jackson." She grabs his hand and they turn to the door with Stiles feeling one hundred pounds lighter. 

***

Can Stiles just say, the supernatural fucking sucks? Being with the F.B.I. was a welcome break from all of this. Stiles had almost forgotten how awful it was, the running, the hiding and the dying. Of course, there is an element of excitement, but after helping Lydia free Jackson (he says helping in the loosest sense because with her Banshee powers, she kicked all the armed guards assess without breaking a sweat), grabbing the mountain ash like Scott instructed and driving like a maniac to the school to confront a creature that can show him his worst fear, Stiles isn't in the greatest of moods. He worries about his pack, thinking a thousand different horrible things could have happened since their separation, but he tries to remain optimistic. He really tries. 

He arrives with the moon hanging heavy in the sky, and barrelling through the school to find Scott, not particularly registering the intense fear that is encompassing the school building and is now wanting to infiltrate his mind. He hates this thing. 

Stiles sneaks past the hunters and heads towards the commotion he hears happening in the library. With a loud bang, he rams open the door, not taking even a second to stop and analyse the scene, just throwing the ash at the creature currently opposing Scott. The Anuk-ite becomes trapped in mountain ash before promptly turning to stone and shattering, unfortunately reminding him of the nogitsune for a horrific moment. He shakes away the thought and rushes to his friend, immediately noticing the blood running from his eye sockets and holding his face so he can see every inch of the damage.

"Oh Scotty," he whispers. Stiles twists around when he hears pounding footsteps behind him. It's Malia and Lydia, with Derek not far behind. Thank god they are all alive. 

Malia falls to her knees in front of Scott, replacing Stiles' position and trying to force Scott to heal himself. Stiles could sense something between these two as soon as he came back, but this is just the conformation. How is supposed to feel right now? He's not sure. 

"Come on, Scott. Just concentrate," Stiles encourages him. It's unconvincing even to his own ears. 

"I can't. I can't." 

"Yes, you can. Scott, please just look at me," Malia begs their alpha. The pain and horror in Malia's tone is like a dagger in Stiles' heart, but he remains stoic. He says nothing as Malia kisses Scott, initiating the healing process, but is forever grateful when Derek lays a gentle hand on his lower back giving him an anchor. He breathes through each emotion and settles for happiness. They are all alive. They beat yet another evil creature. They can start living again. 

Once it's clear that Scott is fully healed, it's obvious that the pack doesn't want to be parted from each other for a while, so Stiles suggests they all go back to his house and rest. When they arrive, his dad is waiting for him, looking slightly worse for wear but nothing serious, pulling him into a hug that lasts for a long time before having to go to start the clean-up of the town. 

The younger versions make it about half an hour later and join everyone in the living room watching brainless movies and recuperating. Lydia and Malia share the big couch, cuddled into each other, Liam claims the armchair, Mason and Corey the floor right by him, Scott takes the other armchair, and Stiles the beanbag chair at the back, with Derek hovering not far away. One by one, they all fall asleep, tucked up with pillows and blankets until it's just Stiles blinking as Regina George gets hit by a bus. 

He decides he needs a drink, so he clambers up, hopping in between limbs to prevent waking anyone up. Stiles sits at the kitchen table and breathes with his head in his hands. These past few months have been insane. He shouldn't be here. He should have died a thousand times over, yet he's here, with his friends and they are all safe. He can't be that lucky. 

A hand is lain on his shoulder, but Stiles doesn't need to look up to know it's Scott. He has to look up anyway, because he knows Scott wants to talk and what he wants to talk about. 

"Hey buddy, how you feeling? All healed?" Stiles inquires, letting his gaze roam over his best friend's face for signs of injury. 

"I'm fine. Physically at least," Scott answers, and Stiles nods. He can only imagine what the Anuk-ite tortured him with before he got there. Well, he doesn't need to imagine, he knows. He squeezes Scott's hand, hoping the contact will help. Scott smiles, fooling both Stiles and himself. "So, about what you saw...between me and Malia..."

"Scott, it's okay. You deserve happiness. And so does she. And if you can do that for each other, I can't say anything." Stiles smiles at him. Scott visibly relaxes, clearly severely worried about his friend's reaction to dating his ex-girlfriend. But it's okay. Stiles knows it will be. "Now, just be good to each other because you are both my friends and I don't want to have to get involved in a tricky divorce-type situation when you guys fight. I will not be the child buffer. No way will I get in on an alpha and werecoyote fight." 

"I really did miss you, man," Scott tells him and Stiles beams. 

They re-join the others a few minutes later. Derek notices his return and stretches out his hand and Stiles takes it without hesitation. He sinks into the werewolf's side and manages to catch Scott's eye, which tells him that they will be having a serious discussion about this later. Stiles rolls his eyes. 

The next morning, everyone hangs around for breakfast. With everyone here, there is an overwhelming sense of family and safety. Derek actually smiles at people. He and Scott swap jokes and stories. His dad cooks up a feast, and Stiles can't bring himself to complain about his high cholesterol intake right now. It's a great moment because it is the most ordinary moment in the world. But it ends far too quickly, everyone having to return home and start being normal again. His dad has to go back to the station as well, so he hugs everyone, Scott, Malia and Lydia the most, and just waves as they drive away. 

Derek stands behind him, a hand snaking around his waist to tenderly clasp his hip. Stiles falls back into him, all strength leaving his body. "We won," he whispers, and Derek knows he means more than just the defeating of the Anuk-ite and hunters. 

Tucking his head in the crevice of Stiles' collarbone, he whispers back, "We did. We really did." 

Stiles turns on his heel and smothers Derek in an embrace that is almost painful. He tilts his face up and Derek finds his lips to plant a searing kiss there. 

All at once, it escalates. 

Derek drags Stiles back into the house and pushes him against the door, the ridges of the wood carving marks into his spine. He doesn't care. He can't care about anything other than the feel of Derek's mouth on his skin. It feels like life and death combined. He trails his hands down Derek's body, following the muscle pattern and feeling them constrict and expand. He grips Derek's shirt wanting him impossible closer. As Derek attaches himself to Stiles' neck, sucking a variety of purple bruises there, Stiles lets his hands explore the undiscovered territory under Derek's shirt. His skin is on fire, his heart beating out of control and Stiles can taste the electricity sparking off the wolf. Stiles decides he's had enough of the tiptoeing. He rips Derek's shirt off as well as his own before crashing their lips together once more. The kisses are harsh, bruising, more teeth and tongue than lips. Derek's huge hands reach down and grab handfuls of his ass, grinding their erections together. The friction isn't enough. Stiles needs more. 

"Derek, Derek, upstairs, please," Stiles begs him, his wet breath fanning Derek's face and dishevelled hair. Derek seems unable to formulate words, so he just lifts Stiles, guiding his legs to wrap his legs around his waist, and pulls him up the stairs. He has to stop every now and then to shove Stiles into the wall and tug very embarrassing sounds from him. Just has to.

He is dumped on his bed with Derek not pausing for a millisecond before sliding up his body and kissing him again. Stiles' wandering fingers find the top button of Derek's jeans and doesn't wait to unfasten them and throw them far away. Derek repeats the process on him. Stiles spots the wet patch on both of their boxers and giggles a little. This is ridiculous. Derek Hale is in his bed. Derek Hale loves him. Derek Hale is going to have sex with him. He wishes he could go back in time to tell his eight-year-old self that things do get better. 

He forgets all thoughts when Derek's hand dips under the cloth and traces him with his fingers. Holy shit. Derek looks at him, silently asking the question and Stiles nods vigorously. As if he even needed to ask. Laying a kiss right above his boxers, just at the start of happy trail, Derek hauls his underwear off and he becomes completely bare in front of the man. He waits as Derek takes in his fill. He does it with such reverie, as if he is marvelled by Stiles, all open and wanting and his. 

Then he is swooping down and licking the head of Stiles' dick into his mouth. Stiles' brain short-circuits. "Oh god," he mutters, resisting the urge to tangle his fingers in Derek's hair and start thrusting. Derek notices his writhing and picks up his hands to allow Stiles to do just as he wishes. Derek takes him in even deeper, his cock hitting the back of his throat and Derek not complaining at all. Just becoming more and more aroused going by the expanding wet patch on his shorts. 

The point of no return is reached faster than Stiles would like, so he tries to warn Derek, "I'm cl-close. Derek, I'm going to - "

Derek doesn't stop, if anything starts sucking even harder, his tongue swirling around the slit. That's what does it. He comes down Derek's throat with a loud moan. Holy fucking shit. That didn't happen. 

Breathing heavily, Derek comes back up to his face and kisses him. He can taste himself on his Derek's tongue and it should be gross, but for whatever reason, it only leads to Stiles' dick wanting round two. Satiated, Derek moves down his body once again, lapping at his nipples until they are fully erect and biting more bruises into different dips in his body. 

Stiles reaches over to his bedside table and pulls out the bottle of lube that lives in there. He tosses it to Derek who catches it easily with his werewolf powers. He admires Derek as he strips out of his final piece of clothing and his dick springs free, slapping his stomach and coating it with pre-come. Stiles yanks him back down again and kisses him fiercely, hating any second they are not touching. 

"Turn over," Derek orders raggedly, his voice not sounding like his own. Stiles does as told. He gets up on his hands and knees and only feels as Derek traces his skin with his fingers before stopping at his hole. He is not expecting it, so he yelps when he feels something warm lave over his hole. He doesn't process that it's Derek's tongue until it is actually protruding inside of him. Stiles gasps as Derek uses his hands to spread his cheeks even and gain even more access. He digs his fingers into the mattress, needing to let go of the tension somehow. Derek is relentless. Stiles can't handle anymore. 

"Please, please. I need more. More." Stiles would never beg normally, but these are extenuating circumstances. 

At long last, Derek obliges and inserts one lubed finger into his dripping hole. The sensations are unbelievable, and Derek succeeds in eliciting violent, wet groans from him. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he cries as Derek slides in another finger and scissors them. He swears he blacks out for a second because when he comes to there is a third finger inside stretching him. It is out of this world. When Derek thinks he's ready, Stiles is flipped onto his back once more, the werewolf's blue eyes boring into his. Reaching upwards, Stiles' hands fall on Derek's face, sliding over his eyebrows, the slope of his nose and the curve of his mouth. The curve stretches as the pads of Stiles' thumbs run over his mouth. Derek dives down and marks his lips with a forceful kiss. 

"I need to be sure you want this before it goes any further," Derek pants. 

"I want you," Stiles insists. 

That's all it takes before Derek is lining himself up and plunging inside of him. Both of them grunt with the power of it, joining the two of them until they can't tell which body part belongs to who. Stiles digs his fingers into Derek's back, creating red crescent-shaped imprints to lie there. They heal within a second, but it feels good to try and mark Derek as his. Each thrust shakes Stiles to his core and bring him closer to being tipped over the edge. From the sound of Derek's breaths, he's reaching his climax as well. Hours, minutes, or seconds later, one final snap of Derek's hips against his gives them both the best orgasm of their lives. Derek latches onto the junction of his neck and bites down harshly, bringing his blood to the surface. 

Derek lays on top of him for a while, absorbing what just happened, letting Stiles run his hands up and down his skin in a soothing gesture. Eventually, the weight becomes too much, and Derek has to push up and fall next to him. Stiles shuffles into him, already knowing that Derek, the sourwolf, is a fantastic cuddler, despite what his eyebrows and leather jacket might indicate. 

"Derek, I love you," he murmurs into Derek's chest. 

Stroking his sweat-soaked hair, Derek whispers those three little words right back to him. They fall asleep cocooned in each other's warmth and feel safer than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter took a long time and I'm sorry for that, but I've had loads of assignments for university and I haven't had a lot of inspiration or motivation. I also apologise for the lack of real excitement in this chapter too because you already know the story of this episode. But if you love fluff, this is the fluffiest stuff I've ever written. Not to mention, the smuttiest. I am in no way good at writing smut, so I hope it's okay for you. I'm thinking there will only be one more chapter left after this which will be an epilogue. Nearly there. Yay! Also, for those of you questioning Lydia's reaction to Stiles and Derek, I did consider a big fallout and them not speaking, but I liked the thought that Lydia knew and understood. Don't think that makes her weak or stupid in any way, I love her to pieces, she is amazing character, so I want to believe that if this really did happen, she could handle it and she would be happy afterwards. Thank you for reading! I really appreciate all of your support. <3


	12. Together

Stiles wakes up to something soft trailing up and down his back with careful grace. Registering that it's Derek's lips crawling down his spine, he smiles lazily without opening his eyes and basks in the moment. 

"Morning," Derek whispers. 

Still keeping his eyes closed, he whispers back, "Morning sourwolf."

Stiles hears a soft puff of air being blown out at the mention of the old nickname, but it's done lovingly, which seems to be the way that Derek treats Stiles all day everyday, from the moment they kissed in Nessie's kitchen: lovingly, he treats Stiles lovingly. And Stiles does all he can to reciprocate. 

He feels Derek's hand dangerously circling lower territories, so he chooses to wake up fully and flip to give Derek all the access he needs. Immediately, a hand wraps itself around his length and strokes him to full hardness. It doesn't take long for him to finish and the action just brings him back to the soft haze of almost sleep he was enjoying before. He moves his hand and takes care of Derek's arousal too. Once he comes, leaving a sticky mess all over Stiles' hand which he quickly wipes off on the bed covers, they snuggle together again, feeding off each other's warmth. 

"What do you want to do today?" Stiles asks quietly, rubbing his cheek against Derek's smooth chest. 

The morning glow of the early sun catches Derek's eyes just right as he answers, "Nothing that means leaving this apartment. I want to stay in bed with you for the next few hours, scrounge up some breakfast, watch movies until the sun sets and then order our favourite takeout from that little Chinese place on Greys Street. Sound like a plan?"

"Best plan ever," Stiles agrees, letting his eyes fall shut once again. Days off like this are the greatest days.

With the help of Agent Ass - sorry, Agent McCall - Stiles was able to reapply for the internship programme and did well. Once he finishes his course at George Washington University, he wants to apply for a full-time position with the F.B.I. Derek happily followed him out to Washington, believing that too much had happened in Beacon Hills for him to ever truly be happy there anymore. Nevertheless, he is always content to road trip with Stiles to their hometown when Stiles wants to visit his dad. They are happy with their life together, Stiles studying and Derek working at the local library as an all-great advisor on supernatural and mystical literature, which Stiles still has a chuckle about every now and then. 

The delicate atmosphere is cut through when a beeping invades the air. Stiles sighs deeply, then moves to grab his phone that is resting on the bedside table of their expensive apartment. Derek never admits how much cash he's got tucked away, but Stiles knows that it would probably make his eyes water. It might be better left to the imagination. Stiles swipes and sees a text from Scott simply saying: _It's time._

Stiles lets the phone fall with a thump on his chest, annoyed that his day off has been taken away so easily. But Stiles could never resist a siren call and he knows Scott needs all of their help with this task. 

"Sorry, our plans have to be put on hold. Scott needs us." 

Derek groans in irritation, but already looks resigned to the fact. 

"Alright, finish packing and I'll get some breakfast ready," Derek tells him. They've known about Monroe and the rest of the hunters for a long while, but Scott just recently told them that the hunters seem to be following a young wolf right now, so Scott, like the werewolf angel that he is, decided that to gather them all to help save him. Despite all living in different corners of the country, they are all more than willing to drop everything and help when asked. 

As Derek plucks up his boxers and slides them on, Stiles reaches out and spins his boyfriend to place a firm kiss on his lips, opening their mouths to let their tongues touch. Derek slips his arms around Stiles' waist and forces their chests together. Eventually, his lungs beg for air and he has to pull away, but not far, never very far. 

Stiles smiles as he says, "I love you. Now go make me some breakfast wolfman." 

Derek shoves him so he falls back on the bed, making them both laugh, then leaves the room. 

It doesn't take too long for them to get everything ready, with them both shovelling in some of Derek's awesome homemade pancakes and jumping into Roscoe. The Jeep still likes to give Stiles problems, but he is forgiving enough to keep fixing her every time she threatens to give up. If Scott McCall hadn't already filled the position, Stiles would have to admit that duct tape is the best friend he has on this planet. 

Driving to Los Angeles is supposed to take about two days, which Stiles already hates before they have even been driving an hour as back pains and boredom set in. He tries to stem the boredom by looking over the information Scott sent him about the kid. Supposedly called Alec, around sixteen years old and turned maybe one or two months ago. Stiles can see the parallels between the kid and Scott when he was first bitten, expect this time Alec doesn't look like he as anyone to support him or even off a sliver of advice, only making Stiles more determined to help him. 

Derek and Stiles stop every now and then, until eventually, Stiles is so desperate for a bed he is ready to grab the wheel and ram them into any building that might hold one. When they choose a motel and find their room, Stiles doesn't waste a second when he sees the bed, jumping on it and stuffing his face in the pillow. 

Stiles hears Derek snort behind him then say, "Well, that throws away my plans of shower sex. But you know what? That's okay, I'm just going to enjoy the hot water by myself." 

Stiles is up and launching himself at his boyfriend before Derek can even take another breath. Derek fucks him open slowly and sweetly while the water washes over them and they fall into the bed with their hands still entwined. 

A day later, they arrive in the City Market in Los Angeles. As they pull up, Stiles notices Scott and Alec speaking in the centre of the open ground. He can also see Lydia, Malia and Liam all surrounding them, waiting for the next move. Stiles smiles at the rest of the pack to greet them, Skype not doing any of them justice. He remembers the last time they all spoke, trading jokes and making plans to go on a trip all together sometime soon. He knows they are all doing well in their lives: Lydia excelling at M.I.T, Scott thoroughly enjoying U.C. Davis, Malia working as a travel writer, giving her the perfect opportunity to continue to travel yet continually coming back to visit all of them, and Liam getting ready to apply to colleges. It's the best the pack has been in a long time. 

Stiles and Derek move closer just enough to hear Scott tell Alec, "You're not a monster. You're a werewolf, like me." 

With that, they start to move forward, with the rest of the pack joining them as they are basked under the light of the moon. Stiles looks at Derek, smiles, and knows in his heart that everything is going to be alright, because they are all together, and always will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go. Finally, finished this story. Sorry it took so long, but university has been crazy recently. I hope you enjoyed this story and I'm looking forward to writing more (I have lots of ideas!) Thank you for all your support! You guys are all awesome! <3


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